Seeds of April

by Celia Scott

  Martha's eyes were alive with malicious curiosity.

  'You forgot! I don't believe you, Tusker. You wouldn't forget a thing like that!'

  Scarlet with confusion, Philippa looked helplessly at Damon.

  'You have to excuse Philippa,' he said. 'I've been so busy trying to sweep her off her feet I've not given her a moment to remember anything.' He put his large well-shaped hand over Philippa's. The touch of his warm skin on her palm sent an unexpected shiver of delight from the nape of her neck down her back, so that she hurriedly tried to pull her hand away, but he held it firmly, and leaned forward to look intently into her hazel eyes. 'I didn't want to give her time to change her mind. When a man's lucky enough to find a girl like Philippa he shouldn't waste time with a lot of past history. We'll have plenty of time to find out about each other once we're married.' He smiled at the assembled company. 'And now if you'll excuse us I'm going to take her away for a while. We've things to discuss.' He released her hand at last and stood up. When she continued sitting looking up at him speechlessly he took her arm and pulled her to her feet, then let his arm fall familiarly round her waist. For the first time in her life Philippa felt tiny, the top of her silky blonde head just reached his shoulder. She tried to tactfully ease herself out of the arc of his encircling arm, but he merely tightened his hold on her slender waist, so she gave up and tried not to look selfconscious.

  'Don't wait up for your sister, Martha,' Damon said wickedly, 'we've quite a lot to talk about.'

  'B… but the washing-up…' Philippa murmured.

  'I'm sure Martha will see to it tonight,' he said genially, ushering Philippa towards the door.

  Martha raised her voice and said venomously, 'I presume you are coming home tonight, Phil? If not, don't forget your toothbrush!'

  The crowded room became silent. Martha glared defiantly at Damon and her sister. Damon's hand dropped from Philippa's waist and he took a step in towards Martha. Philippa looked at his face. All trace of joviality was wiped from it. His well denned mouth was set into a grim line, and his eyes were cold as steel. Philippa felt sorry for her little sister, whose attitude of defiance was visibly wilting in the face of Damon's anger. When he spoke his voice was low, which was more menacing than if he had raised it.

  'Consider yourself lucky there are people present, otherwise I'd put you over my knee and give you the spanking you deserve,' he said to the amazed Martha, whose petulant face turned dull red. Philippa broke in hastily.

  'It's all right, Damon—Martha was just making a joke. She didn't mean anything by it.' It was one thing to have her reputation protected, but he was a stranger, and she felt a rush of family solidarity. She also felt that this charade he was playing was beginning to get out of hand.

  'If it was a joke, which I frankly doubt, it was a joke in very poor taste. However, I won't embarrass your company by insisting on an apology this time. But you keep a civil tongue in your head in future, young lady. Understand?' He gave Martha a long hard stare, then turned to Philippa, who was becoming more furious with him each second. 'Come, Pippa.' He put a masterful arm through hers and imperiously swept her from the room. When he opened the hall cupboard for their coats they could hear the hum of conversation start again in the dining room. Philippa snatched her raincoat angrily from his hand, before he had a chance to help her on with it. Once they were out in the soft April night she turned on him like a wildcat.

  'How dare you say such things to my sister! Making her look like a fool! How dare you! Just who do you think you are?' Her hazel eyes flashed fire, her cheeks were pink with indignation.

  'I know exactly who I am. I'm your fiancé.'

  'My fake fiancé,' she snapped.

  His look became remote.

  'As you wish. However, I still feel an obligation to protect you, even if there's no… no affection… between us.' He took hold of her arm in an iron grip and proceeded to partly guide, partly pull her to a silver-grey Jaguar XJ that was parked by the kerb.

  'I'm perfectly capable of protecting myself, thank you,' said the livid Philippa. 'I don't need you to do it!'

  Damon let go of her arm, she could still feel the grip of his fingers on her flesh. He opened the car door and stood aside for her to get in, but she stubbornly stood on the pavement, rubbing her bruised arm.

  'I'm sure you're capable, Philippa. But your spoiled brat of a sister was being obnoxious, implying you're little better than a trollop…'

  'You didn't have to make a scene,' she repeated obstinately.

  'Perhaps what Martha implied is true? Perhaps you make it a practice to stay out all night when you go out with a man? I wouldn't do that,' he added quickly, catching her wrist as she aimed a slap at his brown-skinned cheek. To her total humiliation she burst into tears of rage.

  'How d-dare you! How d-d-dare you!' she gulped. 'You're nothing but a bully! First Martha and now me!'

  Damon fished in his pocket and produced a clean white handkerchief which he handed her. 'If you have to hit someone, Pippa, why on earth didn't you hit your sister? She's the one who insulted you. Now blow your nose like a good girl and get in the car.' He gave her a friendly push in the direction of the automobile.

  The interior of the car smelled of leather and a fragrance that she was beginning to recognise as Damon's aftershave. Dabbing at her cheeks with his handkerchief, she could have sworn that his eyes were tender when he looked at her tear-stained face, but she told herself not to imagine such nonsense, and blew her nose loudly to help pull herself together.

  Well, that's torn it, she thought. I've ruined the whole thing before it's even started. The knowledge that this arranged marriage would probably be off now filled her with a depression that was not entirely due to the loss of a holiday in Crete. She was startled to realise that she was beginning to find Damon's company stimulating. She liked his massive shoulders lowering over her, the scent of him. She found the web of lines at the corners of his dark blue eyes attractive, and when he gave her one of his tender smiles her heart lurched like a ship in a storm. He maddened her! There were moments when she could hit him—just now, for example—but his rugged virility and male animal charm was beginning to captivate her. Careful, girl! she warned herself, you're liable to fall for this man, and that will never do. To guard herself against such folly she sat primly in the burgundy leather car-seat, her long shapely legs stretched out before her, and her whole body pushed against the car door, as far from Damon as possible.

  He drove fast and with assurance. She stole a glance at his profile, which was visible in the passing street lights. His hair, which was crisp and curling in the damp April weather, was not quite as immaculate as usual. One lock fell over his broad forehead, giving him an air of a small boy, rather than his normal image of sober business executive. His firm mouth curved gently, and Philippa recognised that his full lower lip revealed a violence in his nature that his controlled behaviour hid. She would not like to be the focus of his temper, she thought, but to unleash the passion that she was becoming aware of, to feel that strong mouth on hers… this thought was so delicious that she sat straighter in her seat and turned her head away from him before saying.

  'I apologise for my behaviour just now. I'm sorry I tried to slap you… I feel dreadful about it…'

  'Maybe you're just sorry you missed?' he grinned at her.

  'Please don't joke, Damon—I'm serious. And of course I realise that our mar… our arrangement can't possibly take place.'

  He didn't look at her but slowed the car a little.

  'What on earth are you talking about, Pippa?'

  'Our marriage,' she said flatly. 'It was obvious tonight that it would be too difficult to… to keep up that sort of pretence… I nearly gave everything away to Martha with my stupid surprise about you being half Greek.'

  'That's why we're going to spend time indoctrinating you. Starting tonight over a drink at a club I go to sometimes.' The car accelerated again.

  'A club?' she queried.
/>   'At Kew. More like a private pub really. I think you'll like it.' He glanced at her briefly. 'You can wash your face and generally repair what little damage your crying jag has caused. As for our wedding being off, you can put that idea right out of your head. I'd take a very dim view if you reneged on our contract now. You're not a quitter, surely, Philippa?'

  'It's not that at all,' she replied, 'but it's so difficult with Martha. You obviously don't like her…'

  'I wouldn't say she's wild about me either,' Damon said laconically.

  'You see? It makes everything impossible.'

  'Don't be silly, Pippa. I'm not marrying Martha, I'm marrying you. And we'll be in Crete from the moment we're married. And think how happy Martha will be when she discovers our brief… liaison… is over. She'll crow with satisfaction—tell you what a lucky escape you've had, how she sensed from the moment she met me that I was nothing but trouble. We have to get married, just to give your sister the joy of saying "I told you so" when we get divorced.'

  Philippa didn't particularly enjoy the turn this conversation was taking, so she remained silent for the remainder of the drive.

  The club was located in an old house on the Kew towpath. Damon parked the car and led her through a shadowy garden heavy with the scent of lilac. They entered the oak-panelled hall and Philippa went to wash her face. Gleaming chrome taps gushed hot water, and an antique basket held an assortment of expensive soaps to choose from. There were thick face towels on an oak rack, and opened bottles of French colognes for the use of the guests. She chose a lilac-perfumed soap because it seemed to blend in with the scent of the garden outside. She combed out her beige-fair hair and decided not to tie it back in her usual ponytail, but left it loose, falling like a glossy curtain on her shoulders.

  The sitting room, where Damon was waiting for her, was a quiet oasis after her emotional turmoil. Situated on the first floor, it had old fashioned bow windows that leaned out over the river Thames. Pools of light from peach silk shaded lamps created cosy islands with groupings of chintz-covered armchairs and low oak tables. They sat by one of the windows, and Philippa could hear the whisper of the river as it slid under the dark arches of old Kew Bridge. The ancient Thames, murmuring on its journey to the sea. She sank into the soft chair with a sigh of pleasure. She could feel the day's tensions melting away. It was so peaceful and companionable with Damon in this pretty room, the scent of lilac drifting in from the garden, Damon sitting opposite, his strong face softened by the golden lamp light. She could almost make believe that this was a room in their own home, and they were a married couple, spending an intimate evening together, in perfect harmony. Watch it, girl! she cautioned herself, that kind of daydreaming leads to trouble.

  A white-jacketed waiter brought a tray and set it on the table beside Philippa. 'I thought you might be hungry, Pippa, so I ordered us a snack. I hope it's what you like,' Damon said.

  It looked delicious, and Philippa found she was hungry. She'd not had time to eat much at dinner, as usual she'd been far too busy making sure the guests were fed to think about herself. Damon had ordered pate, a sharp Cheddar and fine Cheshire cheese, with several kinds of biscuits. There was a dish of fruit, and a damson flan with a side bowl of cream. She tried a slice critically (she made a good damson flan herself). It melted in her mouth, the cream yellow and slightly tart, the way of authentic Devonshire cream. They drank brandy, and she poured them both cups of aromatic coffee.

  Damon grinned at her. 'You look like a cat who's just polished off a particularly rich dish of cream!'

  'Very apt, since that's just what I've done.'

  'Well, now that you're feeling rested and satisfied let's begin your education… your education regarding me, that is. Ready?'

  'Ready! I now know that you're part Greek.'

  'Yes. My mother was Greek, from Crete. My father was English. We lived in Crete, but I went to school in England. And I spent many happy holidays in Cornwall with my father's family. My father's brother will be coming from there for our wedding.'

  Involuntarily Philippa exclaimed, 'Oh, lord!' The wedding loomed like an ordeal to be lived through.

  'He would never forgive me if I got married without inviting him. He and my niece Athena are my only living relatives now.'

  'But if it's only a marriage of convenience is there much point to him being there?' queried Philippa.

  'He won't know it's a marriage of convenience, as you put it. And I'm not going to try and explain it to him. He'd never understand.'

  'I'm not sure any normal person would,' Philippa brooded. 'Won't he be very upset by the divorce?'

  'I hope not. I'll just say we were incompatible, and hope he'll take it in his stride.'

  'What about Athena? Will she take it in her stride too? Or do you plan to tell her our bizarre secret?'

  'There's no need for anyone outside of the two of us, and my lawyer, to know,' Damon insisted, 'I prefer to keep it that way.'

  Philippa recognised the stubborn set of his jaw, and didn't pursue the subject. 'Will your niece be at the wedding too?' she asked.

  'No. She's at school in Athens. She joins us there the day after our marriage. Then we sail to Crete together.'

  'Will she like me, do you think?' It suddenly occurred to Philippa that she and this unknown Greek child might heartily dislike each other at sight. Then Damon's neat little scheme would be flawed.

  'I see no reason why she shouldn't. In any case, she has many friends in Athens and in Crete. I don't expect you to spend every moment with her. She's a reasonable girl, so I don't foresee a problem.' This was not quite the reply Philippa had hoped for, so she tried another tack.

  'Since Athena is your ward I presume she's an orphan.' Damon didn't answer immediately, and when he did his voice was curiously flat.

  'Athena's father is still alive. He left my sister when Athena was a baby.' He took a sip of brandy before continuing, 'My sister and my parents were killed in a car crash four years ago, and I've had custody of my niece since that time.'

  Philippa noticed that the harsh lines that ran down to his mouth were more pronounced. His eyes looked bleak. She longed to take his hand, to show sympathy, but his expression was so forbidding she didn't dare.

  'I'm sorry, Damon, I had no idea.'

  'How could you have?' His blue eyes met her hazel ones. 'I was very close to my family. And Athena and her mother… they worshipped each other. It was natural, I suppose, for Helen to shower her daughter with love. Athena was all she had left after her… after her husband deserted her. And Helen loved him, God help her. Sometimes in the night I'd hear her crying… my little sister who was so gentle, so trusting…' his voice broke, but he quickly recovered himself. 'I wanted to hurt him the way he'd hurt her. I would have killed him with my bare hands!'

  His eyes were opaque with hatred, and Philippa felt a frisson of fear. This urbane man kept a tight rein on his emotions, but they were closer to the surface than she had supposed.

  He gave himself a mental shake and said in a lighter tone, 'Fortunately for him I could never find him. But you see how important it is that Athena has some upbringing. She's been through so much in her short life, poor child. And I'm so busy, I don't have the time to devote to her. She needs a woman to share things with, to talk to. The scars of her loss will never fade, but you could help to heal them, Philippa.'

  His sincerity gave her the courage to ask, 'What about your scars? Have they healed?'

  'Me? Oh, I'm fine as long as I have my work.' His voice regained its resonance. 'I love my work. I'm fortunate, since I don't have to earn money to live comfortably.'

  'You don't?'

  'No. My family are quite well off.' He smiled at her. 'The world will say you've made a good match, Pippa,' he finished ironically.

  'Why do you keep calling me Pippa?' she asked.

  'It's my new nickname for you. A vast improvement over "Tusker", don't you think?'

  'It sounds like an old apple core,' she said. But
secretly she was pleased that he had taken the trouble to find a pet name for her.

  'It's from Pippa Passes by Robert Browning. Browning's one of my favourite poets.'

  'You like poetry?' She was delighted.

  'I don't find your astonishment very flattering,' he teased. 'Do you suppose I read only financial reports and hotel plans?'

  'Of course not. But it's such a coincidence. Browning's one of my favourite poets too!' She bubbled with enthusiasm, 'Pippa's Song. Isn't that "God's In His Heaven, all's right with the world"?'

  'That's one of the songs. But not the one I was thinking of.' He suddenly became very businesslike, which prevented her questioning him further. 'I've arranged for you to see my lawyer on Monday morning at ten. He has the settlement drawn up for you to sign.'

  'Monday at ten is fine,'. Philippa replied soberly. The reminder that their coming marriage was strictly business was a downer after Browning.

  'I trust you'll find the terms to your satisfaction,' said Damon.

  She wondered why he had become so distant, almost as if he was annoyed to discover they shared similar literary tastes. He's more temperamental than Martha, she thought; what on earth am I letting myself in for?

  'On Monday afternoon I want to take you shopping,' he went on. 'My firm's throwing an engagement party for us next weekend and you'll need suitable clothes.'

  Philippa opened her long-lashed eyes wide. 'I think you've been so tolerant, Damon,' she cooed, 'allowing yourself to be seen in public with this frumpish beanpole.' She glared at him.

  'I don't choose frumpish beanpoles to act the role of my wife,' Damon assured her.

  'What do you choose? Trendy cooks?'

  'Hardly trendy.' His contemptuous tone chilled her.

  'This arrangement isn't going to work, Damon,' she said in a small voice.

  'It will work very well, Philippa, if you'll just improve your self-image. It annoys me when you constantly put yourself down. You speak of your height as if you were a, freak…'

  'I feel like one sometimes!'

  'Don't interrupt. You're a fool, Pippa. You're a very attractive girl, who could be beautiful if only you'd take the trouble to make something of yourself.'