Miranda's Marriage

by Margery Hilton

  The brusque little salute on her cheek was all he could spare, she thought miserably, and saw his mouth tighten as Sir Charles spoke. She wondered if he were angry at the unex­pected arrangement, for which she was indirectly responsible. Perhaps he had made other plans for the week-end, which he would have to cancel or risk offending the chairman.

  But Jason made no protest. He voiced a polite 'thank you', and lapsed into silence when they got into the car. It was Lady Hubard whose patience gave out first.

  'Well, Jason,' she exclaimed, 'please don't keep us in sus­pense any longer. Tell us what happened!'

  'Who was responsible?' asked Sir Charles.

  'Terrorists, as usual. But it was more in the nature of a per­sonal reprisal,' said Jason grimly. 'How much information did they give out?'

  'Practically none. Just the baldest facts,' said Lady Hubard.

  'It's pretty certain that Major Shumann was the main objec­tive, with the sheer horror that would have resulted, had the attack been successful, aimed on a broader scale at Britain in general. You may remember we signed a new lease three years ago for use of sea and air bases in Rhukal. Unfortunately, the subversive element on the island became so dangerous we were forced to take strong action. Major Shumann was sent out in charge of security, and—although this was never divulged—given a free hand to take whatever steps he thought necessary to deal with it. How successful he was can be judged by the peace­ful atmosphere now happily present on the island. However,' Jason signed, 'our enemies haven't forgotten. He has received threats of vengeance on three occasions, the last being in the shape of one those infernal letter bombs addressed to his wife, which luckily was spotted and dealt with before it ever reached her. When he—'

  'Was that the big fair-headed fellow?' Sir Charles inter­rupted. 'I vaguely thought I recognized him.'

  'Yes, he—'

  'Charles, you're speeding!' Lady Hubard cut in. 'Sorry to interrupt, but there's a police car coming up in the inside lane and we've had quite enough excitement without being pinched for speeding.'

  Sir Charles groaned under his breath and reluctantly dropped his speed to within the permitted seventy limit.

  'I'm beginning to feel the urgent need of a stiff drink, and I'm sure Jason is.'

  'Well, we won't be very long now.' Lady Hubard turned from her anxious survey of the patrol car behind them and flashed a placatory smile at Jason. 'Do forgive me—you were saying…?'

  'He's just finished his term on Rhukal,' Jason went on, 'and was on his way home with his family. We were worried about his wife—she was suffering badly from shock.'

  'Was that the young woman they took to hospital?'

  'Yes, actually she wanted to go home, but it would have been difficult to keep the press away once the story broke, so it was decided to whip her away to a secret destination for twenty-four hours until she'd had a chance to get over her shock. When we—'

  'But what were your reactions when you were told? Did they inform the passengers?' Sir Charles demanded anxiously.

  'We'd just taken off from Frankfurt,' Jason said patiently. 'At first it was announced there was a technical fault—you know, the usual soothing soap—and there was nothing to be alarmed about, and that we were turning back. Everyone got back into their harness again and then the second announce­ment came over, that we were diverting but not to worry,' he added cynically. 'After a while, when no further gen was forth­coming and the stewardesses couldn't say what was happening we began to get a bit restive, Major Shumann in particular. Of course they had to tell us eventually because we had to search the bloody plane and everyone in it.' His mouth set grimly. 'And if you've never tried to sieve a Boeing in mid-air you haven't the faintest idea what the job entails. Anyway, about four of us, under the command of Major Shumann who seemed to take charge automatically, and the flight engineer, organized the search and decided not to tell the more nervous passengers exactly what we were looking for. We made up a story about smuggled arms and a threat of a hijacking which they accepted without question, and this made everyone doubly willing to submit to the search. After the first effort was unsuccessful we began to worry about the landing gear threat. But the flight engineer swore it was impossible. He'd personally supervised the minor repair that delayed us at Frankfurt and he said he'd stake his life that nothing had been interfered with, and obvi­ously the gear was okay when the plane landed there.'

  He paused. 'It was Mrs. Shumann who found it.'

  Miranda held her breath.

  'Where?' breathed Lady Hubard.

  'Concealed in the baby's carrycot. It was the one piece of baggage we passed over.'

  'Oh, my God!' Automatically Sir Charles had brought the car to a halt. 'How in the name of heaven did it get in there?'

  Almost unseeingly they got out of the car and went into the house, where Sir Charles poured drinks for them all while Jason continued his account.

  'We're not sure yet. But it must have been done by someone in close collusion with one of the staff employed by Major Shumann at his house in Rhukal, possibly even the maid who had helped Mrs. Shumann care for the child. Certainly some­one they trusted.'

  Lady Hubard's face was white with horror as the full im­plication of what had happened became obvious. Miranda's own emotional stress dimmed for a time as she imagined the shock and anguish suffered by the young mother. Her baby… how she must feel every time she remembered what might have been…

  She murmured raggedly: 'How dreadful,' and for a moment Jason's glance rested searchingly on her strained face.

  'It was.' His tone was clipped. He got up and paced rest­lessly to the window, and now the strain of the nightmare re­cently undergone showed in his movements and the tense line of his jaw. He said slowly: 'Those two army boffins were superb, fantastic. They were so calm. They did it really, not us. When we found the thing there was only only seven minutes left. Seven minutes between us and…'

  Miranda felt her blood go cold.

  'They packed as much know-how into those seven minutes as most of us would take weeks to absorb, and as lightly as though we were trying to mend a fuse. They described the thing as though it were in front of their eyes, not ours. And somehow we disarmed it. With a minute and fifteen seconds to spare.'

  He stared unseeingly at the peaceful, sun-gilded lawn, and Sir Charles gasped:

  'Who's "we"? You don't mean you?'

  Jason's shoulders lifted slightly.

  'I have a fair knowledge of electronics, of engineering, and I know a little about explosives. The flight engineer knew a great deal more, and Major Shumann has had a lot of experience of arms and explosives, practical as well as theoretical. We just did exactly as we were told and answered the questions we were asked. And then we could come home,' he added simply.

  In the silence that followed no one moved. Then the shrilling of the phone exploded into the silence and Miranda jumped with sheer shock. They stared at the phone, until Sir Charles moved and almost ran to the desk. He turned.

  'It's the press.' His hand closed over the mouthpiece. 'I think they know you're here.'

  Jason took a deep breath. For a moment he seemed about to refuse. Then Sir Charles said: 'Might as well get it over with.'

  Jason walked to the phone without glancing to left or right of him. Sir Charles looked at his watch, and his wife noticed the gesture. She put her hand to her throat and gave a heartfelt sigh, her mouth curving in a ghost of a whimsical smile.

  She got up and moved softly across the room, pausing to whisper to Miranda: 'I must go and see what happened to lunch—I've just realized we haven't had it! No,' she laid a light hand on the girl's shoulder, 'you stay there, my dear. This must have been a terrible fright for you.'

  She went from the room, and after a glance at Jason Sir Charles followed, closing the door quietly.

  Jason was sitting on the corner of the desk now, his back to Miranda, and his voice had regained its crisp decisiveness as he responded to the questions issuing met
allically from the phone.

  She stared at him, at the relaxed stance of him betrayed in one slowly swinging foot, in the long well-shaped fingers toying idly with a silver paper knife on the desk. He held it poised under one fingertip, its point in the centre of the blotter-pad, the silver blade rotating slowly under the motion of his hand.

  Almost mesmerized by the movement, she sat stiffly upright in her chair, unbelieving that he could be so totally oblivious to her presence. An impulse sprang in her to run to him, wrest the instrument out of his hand and force him to notice her. She gripped the sides of her chair, and suddenly a sense of unreality seemed to push out the walls of the room. A hissing came in her ears and frightening weakness pervaded her limbs. Panic rose. She was going to faint… With the fear came a total reversal of the emotion she had felt the previous instant. Pride came up­permost, bringing a fierce determination not to make an idiot of herself. The last thing she wanted was his pity.

  She took deep breaths, praying that he wouldn't turn, that he would go on talking until she forced her trembling legs to sup­port her as far as the door. In the cooler air of the big hall she paused, like a bird about to take flight, and stumbled towards the stairs. No one appeared, and she reached the first floor and her room as breathless as though she had run a race. She sank on the nearest chair, which was actually the dressing-table stool, and slumped forward on the cool glass surface.

  She did not realize that reaction had set in and she was now experiencing the effects of the hours of strain. She knew only that the cold glass under her arms was a stay, while she waited for the sick leaden weight in the pit of her stomach to dissolve. In a few minutes it would pass, she would be all right, she would regain control… this coldness would go… her body wouldn't always persist in trembling like an aspen…

  When the door opened and closed with a snap she started round as though she'd been struck.

  'What's the matter?' Jason asked.

  'Nothing,' she whispered through stiff lips.

  He looked at the wide brilliant eyes in the alabaster white face, and his mouth tightened. He walked across the room and deliberately took her unresisting hands.

  'You're like ice. Why didn't you say so?' He took off his jacket and put it round her shoulders. 'I'll get you a hot drink.'

  'No, I don't want anything.' She huddled into the jacket and avoided his gaze.

  'I don't think you're in a fit state to know what you do want.'

  There was exasperation in his tone. She shook her head numbly. 'I don't want any fuss,' she said desperately.

  'Fuss! What the devil's the matter with you, Miranda?'

  She recoiled, and a sobbing breath escaped her. 'Can't you leave me alone? I didn't ask you to—'

  'Miranda!' His hands seized her by the shoulders, biting through the stuff of the jacket. He dragged her to her feet and held her facing him. 'Are you going to let the shadow of Lissa stay between us for ever? Can't you forget?'

  His eyes glinted like steel crystal, and the strength of his fingers brought a bruising, physical pain. Suddenly she could take no more. Her voice choked on a cry and her mouth crum­pled helplessly. Great tearing sobs shuddered through her, and with a soft groan Jason pulled her against this chest.

  'Go on, go on,' he said against the top of her head, 'get it over with, then perhaps we can start and talk sense.'

  He held her close, waiting for the storm of tears to spend themselves, until the moment she stirred and sniffed unhappily, and said weakly: 'I'm sorry… I—I didn't want to make a fool of myself.'

  'Why foolish? And why sorry?' He pushed a clean handker­chief into her groping fingers. 'Now that you've got that out of your system you'll feel better, and perhaps you'll answer my question.'

  'What question?' she mumbled into the handkerchief.

  A sigh heaved his chest. 'This has certainly been a day… You know perfectly well which question, you idiot.'

  'How can I?' She wouldn't look up. 'You love her.'

  'Love her? Give me strength! I do not love her. I love you!'

  There could be no mistake about his words. Jason's voice was of a particularly rich and resonant timbre. He never mumbled, nor was he given to mincing his words in moments of stress. Yet still she was not entirely convinced. She squashed the handker­chief into a tight ball and raised tear-stained eyes.

  'You've never said so,' she quavered.

  'Haven't I? Well, I'm saying it now.'

  She looked up at his unsmiling mouth and with all her heart wanted to believe him. But conviction refused to come. She put one hand against his shoulder in a weary gesture of rejection and turned away.

  'How do you expect me to believe that? You married me on the rebound. You admitted it yourself.'

  She walked blindly to the window, fighting to keep from further foolish tears, and after a hesitation he moved slowly to her side. He put one arm across her shoulders.

  'That isn't entirely true, Miranda. We all say things that are not entirely true when we're angry, and I was very angry that night. Angry with you, because you wouldn't trust me. Angry with Lissa, because she wouldn't let the past go. And most of all I was angry with myself. But even then I still wasn't prepared to be honest about my own feelings.'

  He paused, and his fingers tightened on her arm. 'I'll be honest. I never really believed in the kind of love I knew in­stinctively you were seeking. Any ideals I ever cherished were smashed at a very early age. I was hurt badly in my first love affair and I never forgot it, and the more experience I acquired the more convinced I became that your kind of love was like the crock at the end of the rainbow. Maybe I was unlucky with my women, but all the girls I met seemed the same. And if you'll try to be impartial you'll have to admit that a hell of a lot of girls are deliberately provocative. They want a man to desire them. They set out to provoke physical desire, and then scream disillusion when the man takes them at their own valuation and they find they've evoked only an illusion of love. And therein lies the heartbreak.' He took a deep breath. 'When I met Lissa I thought she was different, and once again I was wrong. And so, when I met you I knew you were different, but I wouldn't let myself believe that our marriage could eventually fulfil all those ideals I'd turned my back on, those same ideals you be­lieved in so fiercely. I knew you were attracted to me, and I knew you'd never be unfaithful to me, but I wanted your trust as well.'

  'Why didn't you say all this to me a long time ago?' she asked in a low voice.

  'Because I was too proud. And I hadn't been forced to face eternity. In those seven minutes I learned more about life and myself than in the thirty-seven years I've existed.'

  Her mouth quivered. 'I thought you didn't care. And when you scarcely spoke to me at the airport…' She bit on her lip to stop its trembling. 'You didn't even assume the mask of charm.'

  'Mask of charm!' He jerked her towards him. 'Is that how you think of me?'

  'I didn't know what to think of you at the finish.'

  'How could I say these things at a time like that?' he groaned. 'Under a thousand eyes…' He looked down into her woebegone face. 'I'm sorry, my darling, to be the cause of all this,' he touched the tear-stained cheeks and the wet lashes, 'I'd better do something about it…' Gently he kissed the flushed cheeks, the sad eyes, and then the soft mouth. 'I do love you, my darling. How can I convince you?'

  'Oh, Jason…' Her arms went round his neck and she clung hard to him, letting the alchemy of love work its magic and its healing.

  'Doesn't it all add up?' he asked, a few moments later. 'Re­member our wedding night?'

  She made a tiny movement against his shoulder.

  'You were pretty miserable that night, and you blamed me, didn't you?'

  She tensed, then shook her head. 'No—I blamed myself.'

  'So you told me at the time, but you were still uncertain of me then,' he said softly. 'But surely by now you know my moods well enough to realize that when you evaded me that night you made me want to possess you so violently I
was afraid of the outcome. I had to force myself to be patient. You see,' he ran disordering fingers through her hair, 'I knew from the start that under that cool, prim way of yours you possessed a deeply passionate generosity of loving—for the right man. But you were still a babe in the ways of passion, and any man with an iota of perception doesn't expect a babe to run before it walks. That's why I held back, very much against my more selfish desires.'

  'Because you were so sure you were the right man?' With a joyous quickening of her heart she knew she could tease.

  His mouth quirked. 'Do you think I'd have bothered if I hadn't loved you more deeply than I even realized myself? I should have thought that was one of your own idealistic con­ceptions of love—that in true love one considers the other's well-being before one's own desires?'

  She sighed deeply. 'I wanted to believe that you would fall in love with me, but I was afraid to let myself, because of the way I felt about you, and because of that charm of yours—you just can't help being the most devastating man in the whole world. And,' she sighed again, 'you'd been so honest about the usual thing.'

  'What usual thing?' He gave her a shake.

  'Well, wanting to make love to me,' she said in a small voice.

  'Oh, my darling little idiot!' He enfolded her closer. 'What­ever you have been taught to believe about men and their desires, there's one vital little aspect to which you seem blind. Tell me, could you allow any man to possess you?'

  She looked at him in horror, her lips forming the shocked denial.

  'Well, do you really believe it's impossible for a man to share a similar sentiment? Whatever you may have heard to the con­trary most men are capable of feeling love in their hearts as well as their loins. And if you find that difficult to credit—heaven forbid!—can't you believe there's an exception to every rule? That exception being me?'

  'Naturally!' She laughed shakily, but she was still too close to the memory of anguish to shed its effects. There was still some­thing that remained to be said, and in the fullness of her love she had to make the admission he deserved. She held his dark gaze steadily.