Miranda's Marriage

by Margery Hilton

  'You're very quiet,' he said, switching on the floor lamp in the lounge. 'You didn't begrudge an evening spent with old Don, did you?'

  'Oh no!'

  She spun round so quickly with the denial she bumped against him. As quickly, his hands closed over her shoulders. She shook her head vehemently. 'I enjoyed the evening im­mensely. Didn't you?'

  'Shall we say it was an ideal detour?'

  Without waiting for her reply he bent his head and kissed the mouth that had parted in puzzlement at his somewhat odd remark. 'You looked very beautiful tonight,' he murmured a few moments later, and once again gave her no opportunity of response.

  Instinctively she had stood still within his arms, then a tremulous joy came like a pain, so great it was, and her heart began to race. Slowly she let her hands steal up to his shoulders, still shy in their response, and instantly his embrace tightened. A wild sweet enchantment rippled through her veins as his mouth moved over her cheek, down to her throat, and left its trail of fire across her shoulder, and through it she sensed the languorous restraint keeping a rein on passion. The knowledge that he was trying not to rush her into a headlong surrender brought its own welling of love, so that when his questing hands found and began to deal with eight demure little lace buttons she stayed passive in the circle of his arm, her brow against his cheek, and felt him sigh softly.

  'Still shy of me?'

  She pressed her face into his shoulder. 'Not exactly. But… it's the first time in my life a man's undressed me.'

  'I'm well aware of that.' His voice was husky. 'Does it seem so outrageous?'

  'Not if—not if you're not madly impatient with me, and—and—'

  'And what?' He found the ribbon bow, pulled it free, loosened the silky hair into abandon through his fingers. 'Go on, my prim little bride. Talk it all out while you get used to the idea of all these first times between a man and a woman.'

  Her hand stilled in the thick vibrant hair she had always longed to run her fingers through. 'But it's only me, isn't it, Jason? It isn't the first time for you.' She thought she detected a tension in him and went on hurriedly: 'I don't mean that—try to understand—I accept that you must have known other women, had affairs with them before you met me, but I haven't. That's why I—I'm not sure what you expect of me.'

  'I think those are seas we shouldn't venture upon,' he said softly. 'I won't deny my past, but it's the last thing I want to remember at this moment.'

  She knew a wild relief; Jason's past was the last thing she wanted to intrude on her thoughts this night. Almost feverishly she pressed her face against his. 'It's just that I—I don't want to fail you,' she whispered.

  'Who said anything about failure?' He buried his mouth in her hair. 'I didn't.'

  'Yes, but last night… why did you say…?'

  'What did I say?'

  'That you—that I didn't—' Her mouth parted despairingly under the onslaught of another. Jason was losing patience at last and he was making it very difficult for her to think straight, let alone talk straight.

  'You didn't what?'

  'I didn't appeal to you?'

  'That was last night—and totally out of context. Do you always quote people out of context, my love?'

  'No, but…' Through the intoxication of pagan senses be­ginning to clamour their delirious response she still strove to clear the doubts he had sowed the previous night. 'I—I didn't mean you thought I didn't want you. I—'

  'I don't think you're very sure of anything at this moment,' he said softly.

  But his words held an absent tone, that of a man distracted by more important matters than argument, and she looked up tremulously. 'I just wanted you to know…'

  'I'm getting the message…' His lips moved against her ear and his hands played the music of love. 'Haven't you heard…? To everything there is a season…? Last night wasn't our moment.' He cupped one hand under her chin and upturned her face, staring down at her with shadowy eyes. The night stilled, then abruptly he gathered her bodily into his arms and almost fiercely buried his face in the sweet pearly softness of her breast. 'But this is…'

  * * *

  In the warm scented darkness of the Mexican night her doubts and fears had dissolved. Her body drowsed, luxuriating in this new and wondrous sense of well-being, while her mind revelled in the dual joys of surrender and possession. She wanted to talk, while her hand cradled Jason's dark head where it rested on her breast.

  'Mm…?' he said sleepily.

  'We'd better send our cards tomorrow—or we'll be home before they are.'

  'Mm, does it matter?'

  'Not really.' She gazed up into the darkness. 'We mustn't forget to send Libby one.'

  There was no response, beyond a slight stirring and deeper settling of the dark head.

  'Jason…?'

  'Mm?'

  'Do you think Libby will mind?'

  'Mind what?' There was the suggestion of a sigh.

  'Me. I mean, she's had the running of your home for a long time.'

  'Why should she?' Jason's shoulders rose slightly, then slum­ped in contented relaxation. 'Not going to sleep, woman?'

  'I can't.' Her mouth sent a secret smile up into the night. 'Time's too precious to waste in sleep. Don't you realize?—one whole day and nearly two nights have gone already. We've only four days. I don't want them to go too quickly.' She gave a deep sigh. 'I don't want them to go at all.'

  He moved, so abruptly she was startled, and propped himself upon on one elbow. He looked down at the pale luminous oval of her face framed in the dark hair tumbled wantonly across the pillow and lifted one tress. 'Your eyes have lights in the dark—why are you laughing?' he demanded, his caress stilling in her hair.

  'I'm not really.' She shook her head and raised one hand to touch his cheek. 'I've just found out that one thing I heard seems to be true.'

  'Oh?'

  'Men usually want to go to sleep afterwards.'

  'And women always want to chatter.' His voice took on a husky note. 'Have I made you happy?'

  'Very.' With all the honesty of her young heart she reached up impulsively and drew him down to her, to whisper against his cheek: 'If only I'm able to make you as happy!'

  His mouth moved in search of her own. 'Is that so impossible a task?'

  It was a question which, a few hours previously, she would have pondered on long and despairingly before venturing to seek its answer, but now, the warm urgency of his arms claim­ing her again, she let her silent lips give the other sweet answer he demanded.

  His question must wait: only time could bring its answer.

  CHAPTER NINE

  'I'll be late tonight,' said Jason, picking up his briefcase. 'Don't wait up.'

  'As late as that?' Despite her resolution never to become a nagging wife or an inquisitor, Miranda could not keep disap­pointment out of her eyes. She pressed her fingertips against the place on her cheek which a troublesome neuralgia had made tender for the past two days and forced a smile. 'I'll leave the little light on for you if you're not back by the time I fall asleep.'

  'The man from I.A. Components is due in late this after­noon. We'll be dining him at my club. But he's going on to Brussels tomorrow, then things may quieten down for a few days, my sweet. We'll have a night out.' He turned to stoop and drop a light kiss on the forlorn little mouth, and said ab­ruptly: 'Is that tooth still bothering you?'

  'A little bit,' she evaded his searching glance. 'I had it filled just the week before I left Evesham—that's still only about four months ago. I can't understand it; it looks all right.'

  'You'd better make an appointment to have it seen to straight away,' he said firmly. 'Do that this morning.'

  'Yes, Jason,' she nodded.

  She stood by the window and watched the Mercedes nose out of the square. The forlorn droop stayed stubbornly across her shoulders, and she could not pretend that it was entirely due to the toothache which had disturbed her sleep for two nights.

  Another late
night!

  She had been married exactly four weeks and five days, thirty-three days to be exact, and Jason had spent fifteen of them away from home. Admittedly they'd been in short breaks of two or three-day duration, but that didn't make it any more bearable when she considered that out of the remaining eight­een he'd been kept late by business conferences for three of them, a board meeting for one of them, and yet another taken by a flying trip to the Midlands for the annual general meeting of the governing board of the children's home—which he couldn't skip. It had been three in the morning when he'd got back from that session. Now she was beginning to realize what he had meant when he objected to spending their honeymoon within too convenient reach of the office!

  In the way things happen, they'd ganged up, waiting for his return. There had been a packed appointment book, a round of E.E.C. meetings, a crisis caused by a shock merger looming suddenly on the business world's horizon, and Wally had had a minor accident which had made necessary a brief stay in hos­pital. And then there had been the business with Inger Minerals, Inc.

  Miranda sighed. She'd thought the hectic phase was over. Apparently it wasn't. Slowly she went through the hall, let in the little grey tabby cat who seemed to have adopted her, and then went in search of aspirins. She should do as Jason bade her and not put off visiting the dentist, but she hadn't got round to finding a new one—it wasn't six months since her last checks up, she told herself, hating to admit that like a great many other people the thought of the dentist gave her the shivers.

  'I couldn't face it this morning,' she murmured aloud to the little cat as she poured herself the last of the breakfast coffee and downed two aspirins.

  No, not this morning, the little cat seemed to purr as she leaped soundlessly up into Miranda's lap for a few minutes of feline luxury before Libby arrived to clear the breakfast things.

  Had anyone ever warned Miranda that marriage could bring its own kind of loneliness she would have received the warning with scepticism. For wasn't the whole essence of marriage in its loving and sharing and companionship? Not that she believed that marriage conferred constant companionship, but wasn't there always the knowledge that the other was there, the chosen one who made up that wonderful extension of one's own life?

  She finished the coffee and stroked the little cat's soft fur, unaware that she sighed again. No matter how she tried to cling to that ideal belief it still wasn't quite enough consolation for the long hours when Jason wasn't there.

  The kitchen door opened and shut with the now familiar click and crump which meant Libby had come up again from her own flat which Jason had had converted from the lower ground floor. Originally the servants' quarters in Edwardian days, nothing of that dark comfortless atmosphere remained in the spacious three-roomed flat with every modern fitting in which Jason's housekeeper lived. Miranda hastily pushed the cat off her knees and began to stack the dishes on the trolley.

  'You should have left those for me, Mrs. Steele,' Libby re­buked, hurrying across the kitchen and pulling a tea towel off the rail as she passed.

  'I haven't anything special to do this morning.' Miranda splashed wash-up liquid liberally into the bowl. 'Anyway, I have to learn to housekeep some time. I couldn't bear to become a useless wife.'

  Libby smiled faintly but made no comment. After a moment she asked if there were any particular requirements for the day's menu.

  'No, it's another non-occasion tonight,' Miranda said resign­edly, 'so I'll just make myself a sandwich.'

  'It's no more trouble to make a meal for one than two,' Libby said equably. 'What would you like?'

  'Jason to eat it with me,' was the wry rejoinder.

  Libby tilted her head sympathetically. 'You married an im­portant man, you know. He's never had a great deal of free time the years I've worked here.'

  'Sometimes I wish he weren't quite so important,' Miranda sighed. 'I know he carries a tremendous responsibility, but he drives himself too—' She stopped. 'Was that the door bell?'

  Libby was already moving. 'I'll get it.'

  The moments passed. Miranda rested her hands on the edge of the sink. She could hear the exchange of voices, but the distance of the kitchen from the front of the house effectively blurred what was being said. Presently Libby's light brisk steps came along the rear hall.

  'It's Mrs. Lindsterne, madam.'

  Something in the housekeeper's tone made Miranda frown and look at her sharply. 'Mrs.…? Should I know her?'

  'I couldn't say, madam.' Formality had returned like an easily assumed mask to the housekeeper. 'I could say that you're about to go out, if you're too busy to talk to her.'

  'No…' Miranda reached for a towel to dry her hands. 'I'd better go and see what she wants. She's probably someone…' she left 'Jason knows' unspoken and gave Libby another puz­zled glance. Libby had sounded almost evasive—or was she imagining things? She obviously knew the caller, but if Mrs. Lindsterne was someone Jason knew why hadn't she said so?

  Miranda hurried along the hallway. For some stupid reason her heart was beating quickly enough for her to be aware of it, and the odd little prickles of unease were making her feel stiff and tense. She paused by the mirror for a quick look at herself and drew a deep breath before she opened the lounge door to meet the newcomer.

  The girl rose gracefully from the brocade chair near the window and came forward quickly towards Miranda. In those brief moments Miranda took in a tall slender form, blue-clad in simple, expensive elegance, sleek ash-blonde hair coiled about a well-poised head, a direct blue gaze and a self-confident smile, and the rainbow chips of dazzle from the diamond ring on the hand held out to Miranda.

  'Do forgive me for bursting in on you at this ungodly hour, and without a word of warning, but I found myself a little early for an appointment and decided I must call,' the newcomer said with disarming friendliness. She bit gently at a full red lower lip. 'I haven't goofed, have I? You are Jason's wife?'

  'Yes—Mrs. Lindsterne.' Feeding oddly at a loss for words Miranda took the proffered hand and added, 'Please sit down.'

  'Thank you—my name's Alicia, but my friends call me Lissa.' Another disarming smile as she gracefully sat down. 'I won't outstay my welcome, I promise, but I've been longing to meet you. You see we were away, cruising the Greek Isles, at the time of your marriage, and we were terrifically surprised when we got back a couple of weeks ago and heard Jason was married. We're old friends—he and my husband are Wykehamists—I don't know if Jason has spoken of us, but I simply had to call and offer our congratulations.' She hesitated, and pretended breathlessness. 'You see now what James means when he says I talk too much.'

  'Not at all,' said Miranda politely. The newcomer had an engaging way with her, one that made the barriers of strange­ness frail things in a very short time, despite the accent which Miranda described to herself as distinctly plummy. She smiled and admitted frankly: 'I can't recall Jason speaking of you or your husband, but possibly he did and with the rush and every­thing I forgot. Have you time for some coffee, Mrs. Lind­sterne?' she invited.

  'I'd adore some coffee—but please call me Lissa. Everyone does.'

  Miranda went to tell Libby to bring the coffee and Lissa made herself at home with unfeigned pleasure. She launched into an account of the Greek Island holiday, a racy account that seemed to take for granted that Miranda was as familiar with the terrain as herself. Only when Libby came in with the tray did Lissa falter, and a glance passed between her and the housekeeper.

  By chance Miranda intercepted that glance and experienced again that odd tremor of puzzlement. Surely she was imagining challenge in Lissa's eyes, and cool disapproval in Libby's. Then in a flash it had gone, and Lissa remarked in her self-possessed voice: 'Libby never forgets. Isn't she a darling? She remembers that I like my coffee black with a dash of cream.'

  Libby laughed as she turned away. 'I keep a list in the kitchen of the likes and dislikes of all Mr. Steele's guests. It's the only way to remember.'

  The
re was a silence after she closed the door behind her, and it had almost reached the stage of being awkward when Lissa set down her cup. 'Are you and Jason free the week-end after next?' she asked abruptly.

  'I—I'm not sure.' Miranda was slightly taken aback. 'I am, but I don't know about Jason.'

  'He'll have to be. I want you to come to us that week-end. We'll have a party to celebrate your wedding.' Lissa's voice quickened with enthusiasm. 'Everyone's longing to meet you—they're all saying how typical of Jason to leave everybody out of it and just secrete you away like that. He is naughty!'

  Inwardly Miranda winced with mirth. If only Jason could hear himself described as 'naughty'! But she warmed to Lissa's enthusiasm despite this and murmured, 'It's very kind of you. May I let you know?'

  'I'll leave you my number.' Lissa delved into her expensive black suede handbag. 'Now promise. You will come. Tell Jason he has to keep that week-end free. Heavens! I must dash. I'm late.'

  The lounge seemed quite empty and quiet when she had gone. Only a faint drift of Hermès lingered for a brief while, and the tinge of coral on the rim of the white china coffee cup. Miranda stood there in the centre of the room, her eyes thoughtful as she looked at the card her unexpected visitor had left, then she put it on the mantelpiece and took the tray of coffee things along to the kitchen. Libby had gone out to shop, and Miranda suddenly decided to go out and do some shopping herself. She left a note telling Libby not to bother preparing any lunch, and spent a leisurely morning window-shopping before having a light snack lunch at the Corner House.

  It was still a novelty to her to be free during the daytime shopping hours and not have to rush round getting everything in on Saturday, when all the shops didn't stay open. It was bliss to have time to dawdle, to look at things and make com­parisons, and not have to keep a mental eye constantly on the clock. She had a sudden impulse to buy some small gift for Jason, after-shave or talc, or one of those fat cakes of soap on a rope for the tub. She wandered round Selfridges, chose some splash cologne and herbal bath oil, and then browsed happily in the record department where she indulged herself in a long-coveted album of Chopin piano music.