‘Are you alone?’ Virginia sounded surprised. ‘I saw you disappear from the party with a gorgeous guy and thought maybe you’d spent the night with him. Who was he?’
‘He said his name was Cortez.’ Elin swallowed. ‘I didn’t get round to asking his surname. But I thought he was a friend of yours. Didn’t you invite him to the party?’
‘I’d never seen him before he turned up here last night.’ Virginia frowned. ‘It’s a bit odd. I haven’t spoken to anyone who was at the party who knows him.’
Virginia dismissed the mystery of Cortez’s identity with an airy shrug that Elin envied. ‘You missed all the drama last night. A guy called Tom Wilson was arrested on suspicion of spiking my friend Lisa’s drink. Apparently she felt strange after drinking a cocktail Tom had made her but she assumed she was drunk. A while later he tried to get Lisa to leave the party with him, but someone else warned her that they’d seen Tom slip something into her drink. The police were called, and when they tested the dregs of drink in the bottom of Lisa’s glass they found evidence of a substance which is a well-known date-rape drug.’
Something clicked in Elin’s mind and she sank down onto the bed. ‘Do you know what the effects of taking the drug are?’
‘Lisa said she felt dizzy and out of control and she described feeling detached from reality. Oh, my God,’ Virginia said in a horrified voice as she noticed Elin’s white face. ‘Do you think your drink was spiked too?’
‘Tom made me a cocktail and I felt strange after drinking it. But, like Lisa, I thought I was drunk.’
‘You had better inform the police that it’s possible you were another of Tom’s victims. Some so-called date-rape drugs can cause blackouts and amnesia and if you unwittingly took the drug it would explain why you’ve been asleep for half the day.’
If her drink had been spiked it would explain her bizarre, out-of-character behaviour last night. But it was a cold comfort, Elin thought grimly. Cortez would have been unaware that she’d been drugged. However, he’d mentioned her reputation as an It Girl—how she detested the label—and he had clearly believed she made a habit of sleeping with men she’d just met. The fact that he had disappeared after they’d had sex, without waking her, made her feel like a tramp.
As soon as Virginia had gone, Elin stripped off the scarlet dress that had become her badge of shame and shoved it into the bin. She felt soiled, but when she took a shower no amount of hot water and soap could scrub away her self-loathing or the marks on her body left by Cortez. Padding from the en suite bathroom back into her bedroom, she stood in front of the mirror and allowed the towel she’d wrapped around her to fall.
The evidence of her guilt was branded on her body. There were red patches on her breasts where Cortez’s rough jaw had scraped her delicate skin, and although there were no visible signs of the ache between her legs, the dull throb was an uncomfortable reminder that she had lost her virginity having casual sex with a stranger.
Thank God he had used a condom. Elin held her hands to her hot cheeks and wished she did have amnesia. But memories of her wanton behaviour were painfully clear in her mind. Cortez hadn’t forced her or coerced her to have sex with him, and even discovering that her drink might have been spiked by another of the party guests did not make her feel any better about herself. She’d behaved like a whore, and her only consolation was that she was unlikely to meet the Spanish conquistador who had taken her self-respect along with her virginity ever again.
One year later
AN ICY BLAST of air swept into the church and the ancient oak door creaked on its hinges, heralding the arrival of a latecomer to Ralph Saunderson’s funeral. Sitting in a front pew beside her brother, Elin felt the cold draught curl around her ankles and wished she’d worn her boots. But her black patent four-inch stilettos looked better with her nineteen-fifties style coat and matching black pillbox hat with a net veil that the milliner had said made her look like Grace Kelly, and Elin had learned when she was four years old that looks were everything.
A faint frown creased between her perfectly arched brows as she listened to footsteps ring out on the stone floor of the nave. When she and Jarek had followed their adoptive father’s coffin into the church she’d noted that every pew was filled. It seemed as though the entire population of Little Bardley had turned out to bid farewell to the squire of the pretty Sussex village on the South Downs. Elin had made a mental note of the many familiar faces in the congregation so that she could thank each person who had attended the funeral.
Who had arrived halfway through the service? She felt a prickling sensation between her shoulder blades and although she tried to concentrate on the minister while he gave the eulogy, she could not dismiss an inexplicable sense of unease. When the congregation stood to sing a hymn, she glanced over her shoulder and her heart collided with her ribs when she thought she recognised the man standing at the back of the church.
Cortez!
It couldn’t be him. Elin drew a shaky breath. Her brain must be playing a cruel trick on her. It was over a year since her fateful birthday party when she’d had sex with a stranger who she’d known only as Cortez. There was no reason in the world why he would have turned up at her father’s funeral.
She jerked her head round to the front and stared down at the hymn book that shook uncontrollably between her fingers. Her brother swore softly as he slid his hand beneath her arm.
‘You’re not going to faint, are you?’ Jarek muttered. ‘The press pack who are slavering outside the church would love to snap you being carried unconscious from a venue for the second time this week. Of course there would be speculation in the tabloids that you were drunk or high at your dear papa’s funeral.’
‘You know I’m neither,’ Elin said in a low voice, while the congregation sang the second verse of the hymn. ‘I explained that I fainted at Virginia’s hen party two nights ago because it was so hot and stuffy in the nightclub.’
‘A more likely explanation is that you are still not fully recovered from Harry’s traumatic birth. I know he is three months old, but you lost God knows how many pints of blood when you haemorrhaged after giving birth,’ her brother said grimly. ‘I told you before you went to London that I didn’t think you were fit enough to return to your frenetic social life.’
Elin was stung by the faint censure in his words. The only reason she had become a familiar face on the London club scene a year ago had been so that she could try and keep Jarek out of trouble and out of the tabloids’ headlines. At least she no longer had to worry that Ralph would lose patience with her brother. Their adoptive father had died a week ago, a month after being diagnosed with a brain tumour. Jarek was destined to take over as head of Saunderson’s Bank and even though many of the bank’s board members were concerned by his reputation as a risk-taker, no one could prevent Ralph Saunderson’s heir from becoming chairman.
Elin bowed her head while the minister intoned a prayer, but her mind was on the man she’d seen in the church. She’d only caught a glimpse of him, and of course he couldn’t be Cortez, she reassured herself. Although he had known her name and London address, he had never tried to contact her in the past year and, as she did not know his surname, she’d been unable to find him to tell him about Harry.
She thought of her baby son, who had been asleep when she’d left him with his nanny in the nursery at Cuckmere Hall. Harry was innocently unaware that he had been conceived as a result of a few moments of lust between two strangers. But when he was older he was bound to be curious about his father, and Elin planned to make up a story that Harry’s father was dead. It would be better to tell her son a white lie than for him to learn that his father had abandoned him before his birth, she reasoned.
She and her brother had been abandoned by their own parents when she was a baby.