Constantine's Revenge

‘Thank you.’

It was muttered ungraciously because she was struggling with the shock waves of sensation, the recollection of other, very different feelings that this man’s lightest touch had once sparked off inside her. Times when it had seemed that those long, square-tipped fingers might have been made of molten steel, so intense had been the force of her reaction. She had felt as if the path they had taken was scorched deep into her flesh, branding her irrevocably as his.

‘It was no trouble,’ Constantine returned, the elaborate courtesy deliberately mocking at her stilted response. ‘Would you like some help in here?’

It was the last thing she wanted. Standing so close to her, she was sure he must sense the unevenness of her breathing, hear the heavy pounding of her heart. Just when she most wanted to appear unmoved and totally indifferent to his proximity, her traitorous body seemed determined to go into sensual overdrive, responding to the nearness of his with all the hunger of a famine victim suddenly presented with the most tempting banquet.

‘Won’t that rather spoil your plan to behave as if I don’t exist?’ she demanded, hiding her unsettled feelings behind a show of aggression. ‘Anyway there’s no need. There’s nothing left to do.’

To demonstrate the fact she removed the last plate and plonked it down on the drying rack before upending the bowl in the sink so that the soapy water drained away with a faint gurgling sound.

‘Then shall I fetch you a drink?’

Nerves on edge, Grace swung round suddenly to glare into Constantine’s unreadable black eyes.

‘Just what game are you playing now, Constantine? What exactly are you doing here?’

‘No game, I assure you. Perhaps a compromise…’

‘Compromise!’ Grace scoffed. ‘I thought such a word didn’t exist in your vocabulary. You wouldn’t know a compromise if you came face to face with one.’

‘I am trying to be reasonable here.’ Constantine’s careful restraint was obviously slipping slightly, traces of the barely reined in temper escaping his ruthless control. ‘I do not feel comfortable being at a party where the woman who is one of the host’s best friends spends all her time hiding in the kitchen, especially when I suspect that—’

‘Suspect what?’ Grace broke in, definitely rattled. ‘That you’re the reason I’m “hiding” away in here? I always knew your ego was excessively healthy, but…’

‘Grace, this is meant to be a Turn Back the Clock party. Surely it should be possible for two mature, civilised adults to abide by the theme of tonight.’

‘And turn back the clock until when, precisely?’

It was scary to realise how much she wanted to do just that. Frankly terrifying to admit that her heart had leapt in anticipation of the prospect.

If only they could! If only they really could go back to the time when he had been her life and she had believed herself his. The time when they had been so much a couple that they had thought, acted, almost even breathed as one. The time before Paula’s lies and her own fears had ripped them apart, driving a chasm between them that it seemed nothing could bridge.

‘Well, the idea of the party is that everyone comes as they were ten years ago, but I’m afraid I have problems trying to imagine you at fourteen.’

Constantine’s sudden brief flash of a grin was devastating in its impact, winging its way to Grace’s already vulnerable heart like an arrow into the gold at the centre of a target. In spite of herself, she couldn’t hold back a faint sigh of response, regretting it at once as soon as she saw those brilliant black eyes narrow in swift calculation.

‘So what if we settle on half of that time? Five years ago we would have been complete strangers. We’d never even met.’

The faint flame of hope that had lit inside Grace’s heart flickered briefly then abruptly went out. If she had needed any warning that their thoughts were running on entirely different lines, then he couldn’t have given it more clearly.

Turn back the clock. She had taken that phrase to mean going back to the beginning of their relationship, to the time when their love had been fresh and new, intoxicating in its heady delight. To Constantine, the idea was that they should act as if they had never met, as if they were total strangers to each other.

‘All right,’ she managed, swallowing down the burning disappointment that seemed to eat at her like acid. ‘That should be okay.’

Gravely she held out her hand to him, schooling herself to make sure it showed no betraying tremor.

‘I—I’m Grace Vernon. Pleased to meet you.’

Constantine fell in with her pretence with an intuitive ease that made her heart ache with the memory of how it had once been, when that easy understanding had been used on other, far more important matters.

‘Constantine Kiriazis,’ he replied, taking the offered hand and executing a small formal bow over it. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

‘W-white wine, please.’

The last thing she wanted was anything alcoholic. Already she felt as if every one of her senses was on red alert, hypersensitive to the sensual force of his physical presence, and she needed no stimulation to add to the sensations that were sizzling through her.

But what she did need was a brief time to herself. A few moments in which to draw breath, try to slow the frantic, erratic pulse of her heart. Constantine had only to touch her and she felt as if she had foolishly grabbed at the exposed end of a live electrical cable, violent shocks running up her arm, along every exposed nerve. Instinctively she cradled the hand he had released against her breasts, nursing it as it if had actually been burned.

Just what was he up to? Because he had to be up to something. Less than an hour ago he had declared his intention of ignoring the fact that she was at the party. Now, he was actively seeking out her company.

‘White wine…’

Far more quickly than she had anticipated, and certainly long before she was mentally ready, Constantine was back, two glasses in his hands.

‘Dry white, of course,’ he added with a wry twist to his mouth. ‘Though I suppose that technically I shouldn’t have known that and should have asked what you’d prefer. This isn’t going to be as simple as I thought.’

‘Not if we’re going to play it strictly by the rules.’

Rules? What rules? Precisely what rules came into play in this sort of situation?

‘I think we can allow a little leeway,’ Constantine was saying, his words coming dimly through the fog of misery dimming her thoughts. ‘After all, I’ve already asked you about your work, so there’s really no need for the “And what do you do?” conversation. One thing I did wonder, though…’

‘What was that?’ Grace asked, swallowing a much needed sip of the cool, crisp wine, and feeling the effect of the alcohol spread through her body with unnerving rapidity.

She must be much more on edge than she had realised. Better take it steady. Or perhaps her response was to the brilliant smile Constantine had turned on her, and not the wine at all. In that case, she needed to be even more careful. The last thing she wanted was to end up tipsy and not fully in control.

She had to keep a clear mind and all her wits about her if she was to cope with Constantine at his devastating social best. She had seen him turn on the charm so many times, seen far more sophisticated, more blasé personalities melt underneath its potent warmth not to be wary of the powerful spell he could weave with the force of his personality.

‘Did you really dress like that when you were fourteen? I find it hard to believe that the elegant Grace Vernon ever deliberately chose to appear in public looking…’

‘Such a sight?’ Grace finished for him when he seemed uncharacteristically uncertain of how to finish his sentence. ‘I think that was the idea.’

In spite of herself a small, wry grin surfaced as she looked into the darkness of his eyes.

‘I was rebelling as hard as I could. Going against everything my mother wanted. She insisted on my dressing smartly, as she did. She hated me in trousers, and jeans were anathema to her. So, naturally, I took every opportunity to annoy her by wearing them.’

‘Your mother was still married to your father ten years ago?’

‘Just. The marriage was already on the rocks, though. She’d already had more than one affair and my father had just met Diana. Mum and Dad separated very soon afterwards.’

‘And you went to live with your father. Isn’t it more usual for the child to live with her mother?’

‘I wasn’t exactly a child, Constantine.’

They had never talked about this when they had known each other before. Perhaps if they had things might have been different. He might have understood about Paula. But, no, she couldn’t let her thoughts go down that path. It led to too much pain.

‘I was old enough to have some say in the matter. I chose to live with my father and, deep down, I’m sure my mother didn’t mind. She already had her sights set on a new life in America, and a teenage daughter would just have held her back. My school was here in London, all my friends, naturally I wanted to stay.’