Tomorrow's Bride(21)

       
           



       

'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?'