Miranda's Marriage

by Margery Hilton

  'I said nothing about buying. Or giving. Whichever way you look at it a love affair is a two-way affair, Miranda.'

  'Love affair! You mean when you feel like it you'll take me to a show and then expect me to go to bed with you. There'll be the week-ends when you're not away, and the evenings when you feel bored and you pick up the phone. Or do you expect me to move in here?' she cried wildly. 'And you'll take care of me. By which you mean money will take care of me!'

  'What do you want from an affair?' he asked tautly.

  'I've told you! I don't want an affair.' Her voice broke and her mouth trembled. 'Can't you see that what you suggest rules out everything that matters? Every tenderness, every trace of the unguarded, impulsive affection that should prompt a real love affair. There has to be mutual affection, and respect. You can't blueprint any relationship. Taking care of someone means protecting them. How can you protect them from the hurt you inflict yourself?'

  She was shaking when she finished her impassioned outburst, and she did not hear his three quick strides that brought him to her side. When his hands seized her shoulders she started with shock and, too late, tried to evade his grasp.

  'Oh no, you don't!' The first crack in his control showed in the fierce tightening of his fingers. They bit into the softness of her skin under the flimsy voile, making her flinch. 'You've said your piece,' he grated, 'now I'll say mine.'

  Instinctively she put out her hands, but their lilac-tipped slenderness was as frail a defence as the flutter of butterfly wings against the tempest. Inexorably they were trapped against the ivory figured silk of his shirt as he pulled her against him.

  'So you don't believe I can love, be impulsive, and invoke affection? You prefer to expect me to inflict pain? Look at me,' he commanded. His steely gaze bored down into her averted face. 'Look at me!' he repeated.

  Against her will, knowing deep down inside that if she obeyed she was lost, she raised her head and looked up into the dark, saturnine features.

  'So you don't believe I can be tender,' he whispered mock­ingly.

  She did not know the moment when the swift, imperceptible change had come, when the fierce grasp of iron fingers became a caress that stole and enfolded her within his arms; when the arrogant mouth became silent and feathered a long sensuous tracery of her brow, her temples, the oval curve of her cheek, and sought out the tender hollows of her throat as his arms curved and moulded her more closely than ever. Her bones felt as though they were turning to water, her limbs as though they would melt with the heat of ecstasy, and at last, when she mur­mured and felt she could not bear the longing an instant longer, his mouth took hers in a kiss that drew out the entire heart of her and made her, willing or not, the prisoner of his power.

  Ageless moments later he drew back and looked down at her darkened eyes and the soft mouth that still quivered from his kiss. In his own eyes glowed a smouldering look strangely like triumph.

  'Hello, Miranda Meake,' he whispered.

  She could not speak, only give a tremulous sigh and bow her head. The little alarm bells of instinct were almost muffled now, but their weak message still strove to sound above the clamour of her senses and tell her she must regain control, do something about a situation fast becoming out of hand. But what…? She'd never known a man like Jason Steele; nor had she ever dreamed of the effect he could have on her if he chose to wield the charm of experience…

  'I—I think I'd better go,' she said in a tiny strangled voice that sounded miles from her own ears.

  He cupped one hand behind her head, pressing hard fingers under the disarray of her hair, and drew her flushed face into his shoulder.

  'I think you'd better marry me, after all,' he said softly.

  * * *

  'Where do you want to go for our honeymoon?' he asked, three evenings later.

  'I don't know.' She stared at the shimmer of lights reflected on the river and wondered when she would wake from the be­mused state she'd been in ever since the evening of Jason's proposal. Jason! She was going to marry Jason Steele. In three weeks' time. And for the time being it was still a secret. Jason's wish, this, but one she was quite happy to share, simply because it was his desire that it should be so. Although how she had managed to keep from crying it to the world she did not know; perhaps it was the somewhat daunting little reminder he had made as he drove her home that unforgettable evening: 'I hope you're prepared for the barrage you'll have to face when the news breaks at the office.'

  She had stared at him, at the sardonic curl of his mouth, her expression uncomprehending, for the office was as far from her mind at that moment as the moon, and he had added im­patiently: 'It's plain to see that you haven't worked in a large concern for long. Chatter for the vicarage will have nothing on our grape exchange. Not that it worries me much, but there'll be no mercy for you—apart from not sparing your blushes.'

  Instantly Rena Harvey had come into her mind, and she realized what Jason had foreseen. It did not need much stretch of the imagination to envisage the reaction when the news was known. Nor would Jason be quite as remote in his director's suite as one might imagine… She had wanted to tease him suddenly, tell him he was scared of the tales they might tell her about his past, but something in his expression stifled the daring little impulse and she had stayed silent, aware then as she was to be aware more than once in the future of how little she really knew him. And when she had walked into the build­ing on the Monday morning, to the start-of-the week grouses and inquests on personal week-end affairs, it suddenly seemed better to agree with Jason's suggestion…

  She became aware of Jason repeating his question:

  'Where've you most wanted to go all your life?'

  A breeze ruffled the surface of the water, breaking the bright garlands of lights into shimmering eddies. Her glance shifted and came to rest on Jason's well-shaped hand as it toyed idly round the stem of his glass.

  'Acapulco,' she said instinctively.

  The long fingers ceased their motion. His brows came together. 'Acapulco?'

  The moment she spoke she had realized the inanity of her response. She shook her head. 'No—I didn't mean that. Forget it, please. I—I was just being silly.'

  'What made you say it?'

  'I don't know.' She avoided his gaze and cradled both hands round her glass, raising it to sip before she said carefully: 'I don't mind where we go, as long as the sun shines.'

  His mouth pursed. 'Well, it shines fairly consistently over there. Why not? I'll make the reservations tomorrow.'

  With a feeling of increasing dismay she met his nonchalant regard and could not help exclaiming: 'But you said you could only take a week. It'll take a day to get there and a day to come back. We can't go all that distance for only four days!'

  'Why not? I've gone farther afield for much less.'

  She thought of the reason which had prompted her rash suggestion and wondered if he too were remembering the same occasion. 'It'll cost the earth,' she said weakly. 'I mean, when it's for business purposes you're forced to travel long distances, but not when we have the choice… And it'll be appallingly ex­pensive,' she added with a worried sigh.

  He shrugged. 'It's a special occasion, isn't it? Or is that a thing of the past now?'

  'Of course not!' The shock in her voice made it clear that she still considered a girl's wedding day to be a very special day in her life. 'But I don't want you to think I'm unreasonable just because I made a stupid reply to a serious question. I mean, when you've so little time,' she hurried on, colouring under the cool scrutiny of his eyes. 'I'd be quite happy to stay here, a few days at the coast… Devon or Cornwall… or we could wait until you're not so tied up… postpone the wedding until your holidays,' she ended rather wildly.

  'I haven't had a conventional holiday for two years,' he said. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and making steeples with his fingertips. 'I'm going to tick you off, Miranda, in this order: First of all, I do think you're a very unreasonable
girl—but not because you want to go to Acapulco of all places for your honeymoon.' He paused for a moment, his expression enigmatic, giving her no clue as to how she was to take that definite statement, before he went on: 'Secondly, I wouldn't be happy with a few days in Devon or Cornwall. I'd prefer to be out of reach of the phone for a few days. They'd think twice before they dragged me back across the Atlantic, but anywhere in this country… no, it's too handy. Thirdly, the answer's decidedly negative. I've always hated waiting for anything I wanted,' he ended coolly.

  She bit her lip and looked down. Behind the brusque prac­ticality of him there was no pretence. He'd made no secret of his desire for her, and she would not have been woman if the knowledge of this did not start her senses hammering with pleasure and satisfaction. Of all the girls he could have had he had chosen her, had asked her to marry him.

  Already she was closing her mind to that other alternative; that she go to him on his own terms. She was also closing her mind to speculation on what the outcome might have been had he chosen to exert a certain potent kind of persuasion instead of making that unexpected capitulation of a proposal of marriage. For the present it was enough to be in that wild, wonderful state of love that made it easy to answer all doubts to her own satisfaction. So what if her first attraction for Jason had been that of her own slender, physical self? Didn't everyone admit now that sheer physical chemistry was the mainspring? It came first, drawing two people together; until that certain attraction sparked there was little desire to explore one another's per­sonalities, to discover those more subtle depths which people did not display to the casual world. The togetherness came later, she decided, and she had to remember that Jason was used to meeting masses of people. The world of commerce had made him hard and unsentimental. It would take a long time before Jason would drop that hard façade and betray the real man underneath.

  'Have you told anyone?' he asked.

  'No, not even Susan.' She smiled across the lamplit table. 'We did decide not to breathe a word until you got back from the Moscow trip, you know.'

  He nodded. 'You're sure about the wedding plans? By next week it'll be too late to change your mind.'

  'I'm sure,' she said firmly, knowing he was referring to their decision to have a very quiet wedding.

  If she had had parents and a lot of relations it might have been different. In view of this it was easy to see the truth of Jason's objection to a large and lavish wedding; not because of the obvious expense but because he knew so many people it would be difficult to know when to draw the line under the in­vitation list. It would end up with half of London there. Coping with it all would become a burden rather than a pleasure, espe­cially as Jason wouldn't get back from Moscow until four days before the wedding and Miranda would have to cope by her­self. She would finish up as so many brides did after the last week of hectic pre-wedding rush—so tense and exhausted she'd be on the borderline of tears and hysteria. And all those scores of people she didn't know, total strangers… yes, Jason was being sensible, small, quiet ceremony, no more than half a dozen close friends, a brief celebration, just a buffet and toast and cake at Jason's house, no more than half an hour before they left for the airport, and the guests could drink themselves silly to their hearts' content afterwards if they so wished…

  The secrecy proved easier to maintain than she had thought. The bug was still wreaking havoc among the staff and the re­turning victims were too full of their personal experience and sage advice to those on the point of succumbing to notice Mir­anda's suppressed air of excitement. She was one of the few who escaped the infection and the sense of immunity helped to heighten the dreamlike quality of those next two weeks.

  It was almost like living a double life. By day she went demurely about her work; at evening she entered the soph­isticated pleasure world Jason took for granted. For Jason doors opened and crowds parted, head waiters hurried forward and doormen saluted, and all ways seemed to smooth out ahead of him. Some of this particular essence came from Jason himself in his escorting of his fiancée. He protected and cosseted her, almost as though he were determined to bewitch her with charm.

  It was all very new and heady, and perhaps it was partly the cause of her failure to notice that despite the crowded social hours she met very few of Jason's friends during those exciting two weeks. Nor did she question the fact that he seemed curi­ously loath to accept invitations from those acquaintances he did encounter casually at theatre or restaurant while in company with Miranda.

  'I'm hopelessly tied up all next week,' was invariably his reply, sweetened with a charming, rueful smile. 'Ask us again after the thirtieth—I'll be back from Moscow by then.'

  'Not spying, I hope!' was the responding sally to this, from an auburn-haired nymph in white suede and gilt leather they'd bumped into—literally—in the crush bar.

  'Quiet!' hissed Jason ferociously, and in the giggle that fol­lowed drew Miranda away from the openly curious survey of the russet-capped nymph.

  A little while later Miranda ventured on an afterthought: 'You're not, though, are you, Jason?'

  'Not what?'

  'Involved in anything like that?'

  'Like what?'

  'Spying.'

  He gave an incredulous exclamation, and she rushed on anxiously: 'I read somewhere that they do sometimes get businessmen to pass information, bona fide travellers like your­self who are actually important executives, and they usually only use them the once.'

  For a moment he stared at her, then sheer satanic mirth glowed in his face. 'Remind me to show you the secrets of the trade some time. I've a transmitter in my heel, a miniature camera implanted in my left eyelid—every time I wink at a girl!—and a stiletto down each sock. All the blackmailing price I must pay for my past indiscretions.'

  She did not smile. 'I wish you weren't going away, all the same.'

  'So do I—I mustn't forget to pack a couple of sink plugs.'

  Amid all this there was one other noticeable aspect which caused her a certain wry concern and quite a lot of soul-search­ing long after the spying nonsense was forgotten.

  For some reason known best to himself, Jason made not the slightest attempt to make love to her during that dreamlike spell of their brief engagement. His salutations were impec­cably conventional and quite without any trace of the passion she had sensed in him the night of his proposal. He did not seem to expect the small warm declaration of love she longed to make but was too shy to offer without the encouragement that did not come, although he was unfailingly generous in all mat­erial ways.

  She was clear-sighted enough to recognize the possibility of his desiring to anticipate their marriage—Jason had never pre­tended to wear the mantle of a saint and he had been strictly honest in his approach when he first admitted his interest in her—but now it seemed that this particular moment of decision was not to be thrust upon her, after all. She was not sure whether to be sorry or thankful, and, sure of her understanding of Jason, found herself, searching for the reason behind his unexpected restraint. Could it be that he was so confident of his power to invoke responding desire in her that he was content now to wait for the completeness of true marriage; the tra­ditional way she had been brought up to envisage?

  At times she wished she could confide in Susan, but dared not in case her friend could not resist telling Ray.

  Fortunately Susan was too intent on her own affair to notice the new glow about her friend.

  'Ray's different, isn't he?' she said thoughtfully.

  'He seems a more serious type,' Miranda agreed. 'I don't think he's the flirtatious kind.'

  'No, I don't think he is.' Susan lapsed into silence for moment or so. 'Sometimes I've wondered if he really wants a steady girl or just a friend. Please don't laugh, but he's never kissed me once, and we've been out four times this week. You are laughing!' she accused.

  'I'm not, honestly,' Miranda denied. 'You'll have to be patient. He's probably wondering what you'd do if he started kissing yo
u. How's he to know whether you'll slosh him one or go all aloof?'

  'But he should know me by now,' Susan wailed. 'Honestly, you never know where you are with men. Either they expect the whole works the minute they meet you or they go on as though there were a glass wall in the way. I mean, I want to feel I'm attractive to him.'

  Miranda inclined her head without speaking, knowing exactly how Susan felt. Her problem wasn't really an enigma, for Ray was only a year older than Susan and still youthfully uncertain of feminine reactions. Not in the least like Jason. Jason was no stripling, and his knowledge of feminine reactions to himself far more comprehensive than any man's should be, she thought with a sigh. If only Susan knew, she reflected wryly. Jason, for reasons best known to himself, seemed to have for­gotten how much a kiss meant to a girl in love. The last few evenings had ended with a kiss so chaste it was almost an after­thought. And it would be playing with fire to make any in­vitations… To think that she had worried…

  She sighed again softly. There was little comfort or advice born of experience she could offer the lovelorn Susan, except confirmation of her grumble; men were the most unpredictable creatures ever, and Jason the most unpredictable of all.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The evening of Jason's flight to Moscow marked the end of the dreamlike idyll those past weeks had seemed.

  The pressure was on again, at least as far as Jason was con­cerned, and all he could spare her was half an hour in a wine bar before he hurried off for a last-minute conference with the chairman immediately before the actual flight.

  He was tense and abstracted as they settled in an alcove with their drinks, more like the impersonal, hard-headed Jason she remembered before the night she sought sanctuary in his office, and she sensed in him an impatience to be gone. The air of business stayed as he reminded her of the wedding arrangements she would have to check in his absence, and as he told her she was to consult Miss Mayo should any unforeseen snags arise.