'I wish...with all my heart I wish we had never met up again. It would have been better to hold on to at least some of my illusions.' Now he spoke softly, as if to himself, so softly that afterwards, reliving the scene, she wondered if she had misunderstood completely. 'Then what at the time was like a miracle would not have turned into the present nightmare.'
'Just a minute.' She frowned, struggling to sort out the confusion of words and emotions. There was some implication she didn't understand, wanted to have clarified...
'No, you wait a minute.' All at once he was rough, as if control was slipping; the step towards her was threatening, the hands reaching out towards her were bruising through the thin material of her robe. 'Can't you see it yourself, for God's sake? What about your parents? What will they think when they find out?'
A tiny shake loosened the robe, making it slip from one shoulder. The wide eyes staring up at him were brilliant with misery, and even when one hand was linked about her slender neck, when the blood surged in her veins as his finger trailed across her skin, traced the tender hollow of her throat, even then she refused to give way to her feelings, which were nothing other than sheer weakness and produced anger-for anger was so much more appropriate to the scene she was being forced to enact.
'I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about.' Wrenching herself away before his touch could go further, before it could undermine all her resolve, she retied her robe with trembling fingers, then raised her head to glare defiance.
'But, since it seems to be a time for dishing out home-truths, you have a damned nerve, I must say, coming here to my flat, without invitation, to let me know what you think of me, accusing me of heaven knows what and expressing your opinions on matters that have nothing in the world to do with you.'
'I think I have a right to express an opinion simply because of what we once were to each other.'
'Because you seduced me, you mean?' How the words did not stick in her throat she couldn't explain. He had only had to look at her, to touch her cheek, to smile at her in that warm and utterly seductive way... Yes, the word was very appropriate. When he had turned on the battery of charm, nothing on this earth could have stopped her.
'Is that how you remember it?' There was a strange note in his voice; she wouldn't have said it was sorrow, maybe just a touch of regret at how things had gone sour. Whatever, his tone was enough to bring the aching soreness back into her chest, a pain which stifled any wish she might have had to contradict her own words. In any event, the moment had passed and he was continuing. 'It isn't at all like that in my memory, but perhaps-who knows?-I'm the one who is self-deluded. There's no doubt I was older, and I know ours was the first relationship you'd had that meant so much... But I can see I was probably wrong, and certainly if I had had any idea what it would lead to...'
'What it would lead to'... Little else registered; the earlier words were submerged in a wave of righteous indignation which suddenly overwhelmed her, causing her to quiver with anger...
'Lead to you thinking you had earned the lifelong right to interfere in my life? Oh, God, you sound so unbearably pompous.' Now that her attack had begun she found the words flowing on their own. 'You won't say why you've come; you hint at this and that in the most insulting way; you're kind enough to describe what I've become-at least, the version of my life according to Patrick Cavour. But tell me, what have you become since Oxford? Are you going to stand there and tell me you've led such a chaste life that you can afford to pass judgement on other people? Are you going to tell me there hasn't been a whole string of women, starting with Gillian Place?'
Not pausing to allow him to answer, she went on in full spate-she was finding the experience almost liberating. 'And, since you have the impertinence to bring my parents into it, do tell me, what do your parents think of the life you lead? Or is it only women who are expected to allow themselves to be insulted by these questions?'
'At least,' he answered hotly, 'I leave married women alone. I do credit myself with a certain amount of sense.'
So intent had she been on her own line of questioning, so relieved to feel in control of the situation for once, that it took a few minutes for Leigh to gather the import of his words, and when she did she was heady with anger. "This really is intolerable-incredible. What right do you have to jump to conclusions the way you do? And why do you choose always to put the worst construction on relationships? Do you get a kick out of that? Or is it just that it boosts your ego to feel superior?'
'I notice you're not denying anything.'
'I don't think there's much point when you so clearly have your mind made up, and besides-----' she had to bank down a rising tide of hysteria '-it is none of your business.'
He nodded coldly, as if her words were some due confession. 'Of course, I understand-in fact certain things are becoming increasingly obvious. I appreciate the need in certain circumstances to keep your nerve, to deny everything, and if you're clever enough you might even divert attention from the truth. For a limited period. I suppose, that first night in Paris, I might have guessed the way things were, but I didn't.' He sighed. 'Chances were I didn't want to see what was in front of my nose. Anyway, it's getting late now, Leigh. In a day or two I understand it will all be public knowledge.'
'What?' She frowned, trying to follow his words, then wearily admitted that these days they no longer spoke the same language. 'I'm afraid you're too devious for me. I'm no longer willing to make the effort to try to understand.' There was an inexpressible sadness in recognising how deep and wide the chasm separating them was. 'And now, if you don't mind...' She half turned, just resisting the temptation to reach put to a table for support-she refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing how close to collapse she was.
Now he was right behind her-with all her senses she knew that-so she had to force herself to turn, calmly but challengingly. She could see the rapid rise and fall of his chest, knew that if she placed her fingertips against the grey cashmere there would be clear confirmation of his fury. Not that there was any need, not with his teeth so tightly clenched, not with his eyes narrowed and looking at her as if he had murder in mind.
And while they stared at each other, his arm moved, as if he was ready to grab her again, but instead his hand caught the edge of the table, dislodging something. It could have been nothing of importance, since there was no sound of a crash, and nothing, so far as she was aware, fell on to the carpet.
But then he was bending down, picking something up, some scrap which was hidden in his palm as he straightened and they continued to stare. She could hear the echo of her heart pounding against her ribcage, was glad when he broke off the confrontation to replace a scrap of paper, a tiny card...
But instead of putting it down he raised it again, looked from the card to her face and back again, before reading aloud in that damning, sneering voice, 'Captain James Brereton, Royal Navy.' Disparagement was in the eyes now raised to hers. 'A friend of yours?' A multitude of accusations and implications lurked in the seemingly innocuous query, implications which brought indignant colour flooding to her cheeks, but doubtless he would see her guilt being proclaimed.
'Do you mind?' It was an attempt at coolness undermined by the flashing contempt in her eyes. But the hand she held out for the card was steady enough. She had found the bit of paper in a pocket the other day, had meant to put it in the waste-bin, and now slipped it into the pocket of her dressing-gown.
'You haven't answered my question.'
'I'm not in the witness-box.'
'And I suppose you'll say you're not on oath either?'
'Precisely.'
'Is he married, this captain in the Royal Navy?'
'I haven't the faintest idea if he's married or not.' She couldn't even remember what the young man looked like.
'Ah.' There was a wealth of innuendo in the single word, and in the faintly bitter smile which accompanied it. 'How very wise. That's one way you can plead total ignorance.'
There was no way she would dignify such a remark with an answer, so, trying to ignore her own fevered pulses and to retain some remnants of dignity, she reminded him once more, 'I did say I was expecting a guest...'
'And I told you I have no intention of breaking up your dinner à deux but... a last word. Remember, when the whole thing breaks about your ears, I warned you...'
'I promise you I shall try to do that.' She spoke slowly, as if to a young child. 'Even though I haven't the least idea what you're talking about, I shall try to remember I was warned. And that you were the one who gave the warning. You shall have all the credit. Is that what you want?' She had managed to adopt a tone of sickly sweetness, but at the last minute her voice wobbled dangerously. Frantically she gnawed at her lower lip as she tried to retain her crumbling control. 'Now please will you go?'