The Secret Wife by Lynne Graham

The Secret Wife by Lynne Graham

Author:Lynne Graham [Graham, Lynne]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Romance, General, Fiction
ISBN: 9780373119615
Google: 8bwJAAAACAAJ
Publisher: Harlequin Books
Published: 1997-01-02T05:00:00+00:00


CHAPTER SIX

'Where the blazes are you?' Maurice bawled at deafening volume down the line. Rosie held the telephone at a distance from her ear.

'Majorca—'

'Majorca? What the blinkin' heck are you doing there? Constantine's been here.. .he was frantic! Hell, Rosie, you might have at least left the poor bloke a note!’

'Since when did you start feeling sorry for Constantine?' Rosie interrupted in an incredulous hiss.

'Since I saw him demonstrating serious concern for your whereabouts and welfare,' Maurice informed her with nauseating piety. 'You're abroad for the first time in your life, you don't speak the lingo, you don't have any money and you disappeared from his home in the middle of the night. I thought you'd grown out of doing moonlit flits.'

'It wasn't like that.' But Rosie flushed furiously.

'Constantine was hopping mad when he arrived because he was so certain you would be here with me. But when he found out that you weren't he started panicking.'

'Constantine is not the panicking type—'

'Where did you get the money to take yourself to Majorca?'

'Never mind that, I want to know how—'

'Where are you staying? I'm coming over.'

'Don't be ridiculous—'

'I'm fed up with you and Constantine raving about the globe like a couple of hot-tempered, irrational lunatics. Last time I saw him he was mobilising the Greek police to look for you! If you don't tell me where you're staying, I'll tell him you're in Majorca—'

Five seconds later, Rosie slammed out of the phone box without even having found out how the news of the wedding had got into the hands of the Press. It upset her to be at loggerheads with Maurice but it was time that he appreciated that she was no longer the terrified thirteen-year-old he had once saved from sexual assault.

She clambered back onto the motorbike she had hired, trying not to think with miserly regret about the secret rainy-day account she had more than half-emptied in the space of three days.

Her sparkling eyes hardened as she rode out of the sleepy little village and back onto the endless mountain road with its perilous bends and truly terrifying drops. Knowing that Constantine had flown over to England in pursuit of her made her feel hunted. It infuriated her too. Little more than a month ago she had not even met the swine and now he was acting as if he owned her! So what if she had fled imprisonment in the middle of the night? She had done what she had agreed to do in marrying him and he had no right, no right whatsoever, to try and demand any further sacrifices from her!

By mid-morning, Rosie was studying a battered iron name-plate hanging by a piece of barbed wire from a set of seriously rusty gates. Son Fontanal appeared to lie up a rutted cart track that climbed a steep hill thickly wooded with pines. Half an hour later, having abandoned the motorbike under the trees, Rosie gazed down at her father's birthplace in the fertile valley below and caught her breath in enchantment.



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