Come Running

by Anne Mather

  The sleek cream automobile at the kerb was the Jaguar Jeff had once mentioned, and she raised her eyebrows admiringly. Matthew acknowledged this with a wry smile, closing her door behind her with controlled impatience. Then he walked round the bonnet and got in beside her, shedding his jacket and tie before levering his length behind the wheel. Already he looked less tense, and Darrell was glad.

  The car moved effortlessly once it was free of the restrictions of the small town, and although Matthew said little, Darrell was content. They drove to the coast, skirting the river estuary to reach a quiet stretch of sand dunes mid-way between Holland and Frinton-on-Sea.

  The sun was still hot when Matthew parked the car on a grassy slope, and said: “Shall we walk for a while?”

  “Mmm, let’s!” Darrell was eager, opening her door and sliding out. She stood on the edge of the dunes, looking towards the sea, the breeze deliciously cool on her bare arms. Its strength tugged at her skirt, moulding the firm lines of her body and the upward thrust of her breasts.

  She decided to leave her sandals in the car, and good-naturedly Matthew removed his own shoes and socks and left them there, too. Then, hand in hand, they went down to the beach, walking to the water’s edge and allowing the icy ripples to curl about their toes. Somehow Matthew’s arm was around her shoulders, and her arm was about his waist, and they walked idly through the shallows, sharing the beauty of the early evening. Darrell had never known the contentment she felt with Matthew, and she dreaded the moment when they would have to part and lead their separate lives again.

  A stray dog came bounding along the water’s edge, showering them with drops of water, and causing Darrell to gasp and jump away, trying to avoid getting soaked. In so doing, she splashed Matthew all the more and in mock retaliation he kicked water over her. She ran away from him, laughing helplessly, and for several minutes they played like children, chasing one another all over the deserted beach. But finally, Darrell sank down exhausted, and Matthew flung himself beside her.

  “Your clothes!” she protested, as the sand clung to his trousers.

  “I have others,” he replied flatly, and then leant over her, silencing her mouth with his own.

  Desire sprang between them, shaking Darrell to the core of her being. His hard body crushed hers against the sand, and she moved restlessly beneath him, suddenly wanting everything.

  “It’s not enough, is it?” he said, against her lips, his warm breath filling her mouth. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.”

  “So—divorce Celine,” suggested Darrell huskily, and at once he drew back to look down at her scowlingly.

  “You know I can’t do that,” he muttered. “Don’t ask me!”

  Darrell’s blood cooled. “Because—because of the accident?”

  Matthew’s eyes probed hers. “Yes. Why do you ask? You know.“

  “Do I?” She propped herself up on her elbows, not looking at him, staring out to sea.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” He sat upright, staring at her hard.

  “Why did you marry Celine, Matt?” she asked quietly.

  He hunched his shoulders, resting his elbows on his updrawn knees and linking his fingers behind the back of his neck. “We’ve been into all that, Darrell,” he replied wearily. “I’m not proud of my reasons, but I was honest about them.”

  “Because Celine had the right connections.”

  He looked sideways at her. “What are you trying to say? That I married her for her money? Well, perhaps I did at that. But it was what she wanted too.”

  “You were ambitious.”

  He nodded. “I don’t deny it.”

  “So isn’t it true to say that if you divorced Celine—or rather allowed her to divorce you, it would mean more than a marital split?”

  One of his hands was suddenly biting into her shoulder. “Who’s been telling you this?” he demanded harshly.

  Darrell looked at him then, trying to school her features. “Why should anyone need to tell me? Couldn’t I have worked it out for myself, bearing in mind what you’d told me?”

  “No.” His eyes narrowed angrily, and a pulse was jerking at his temple. “You accepted what I told you before. But suddenly you have doubts. Why? What have you heard?”

  “Is there anything to hear?” she exclaimed tremulously.

  “Would it do any good if I were to deny it?”

  “Of course—”

  “Oh, don’t give me that!” He got savagely to his feet, brushing the sand from his trousers with a careless hand. “Lord, and you say you love me! Thank God, I have no part of that feeble emotion!”

  Darrell was frightened now. She scrambled to her feet and confronted him desperately. “You’re talking as though the situation has changed!” she declared, her lips trembling. “But it hasn’t, has it? I’m still here. No matter what you say, no matter what I believe, I’m still here! Doesn’t that mean anything?”

  Matthew looked down at her broodingly. “What does it mean to you?”

  Darrell gulped. “It means that—that in spite of everything, I can’t stop loving you—wanting you—” She broke off, pressing her hands to her hot cheeks, and his expression softened slightly.

  “Nevertheless, you do have doubts, don’t you?”

  “Is that so unreasonable?” she cried.

  He shook his head slowly. “I suppose not.” He spoke heavily. “Who was your informant?”

  Darrell hesitated, scuffing her toes in the sand. “He—he wasn’t an informant exactly. He was—concerned for me.”

  Matthew’s scowl returned. “The man who wants to marry you, I presume.”

  It was a statement and she nodded. “Yes.”

  “Barry something or other. Just out of interest, what is his surname?”

  “Penrose. Barry Penrose.”

  “Penrose?” Matthew considered for a moment. “Not—Barlow Penrose—of the plastics company?”

  “That’s his father.”

  “My God!” Matthew raised his eyes heavenward for a moment. “So he considers himself competent to judge my motives for remaining Celine’s husband! What did he tell you? That her father made me what I am today? That without Galbraiths’ support, I would be finished in the City?”

  Darrell flushed uncomfortably. “Something like that.”

  Matthew’s lips thinned. “And you believed him?”

  Darrell moved her head helplessly from side to side. “I don’t know what I believe. I suppose I found it—more acceptable.”

  “Why? Haven’t I been explicit enough for you?” His eyes were cold, like flint. “All right, if it’s sensation you want, I can give it to you. Soon after we were married, I discovered that Celine was hooked—is that the right terminology?—addicted—whatever—to hard drugs—”

  “Oh, no!”

  “I’m afraid so.” Matthew’s face was grim. “It began in her teens with the usual introduction to cannabis at a party, and went on from there. Around the time I was introduced to her, she had just come out of a private clinic after taking the cure. I think her father had some idea that marriage might help her to adjust.”

  “But—”

  “After the honeymoon, I told you what happened. She got back in with the old crowd. I didn’t know what was happening. How could I? I was the poor fool that had married her, that was all! Then, like I said, she got pregnant. That was when I found out. We were going to this—party.” He paused, the lines deepening around his mouth. “She must have been in a bad way, because she got careless and I—came upon her—” He broke off, and Darrell wished there was something she could say to relieve the tension he was suffering. “I was sick—sick to my stomach. I couldn’t believe it. Oh, I’d had contact with it before—no student can go through university without encountering something of the kind. But Celine was my wife, the mother of my unborn child, and I felt murderous! Believe me, I could have strangled her.” He drew an unsteady breath. “But, naturally, I didn’t. We were so-called civili
sed people—intelligent adult human beings, expected to think before committing some irrational act. So I went with her to the party, and I drank everything that was offered to me so that by the time we left I had no clear idea of what I was doing. The rest you know. We crashed—Celine was injured and lost the baby. They naturally discovered she was taking heroin and she was subjected to another course of treatment.”

  “And you blamed yourself? When she—”

  “I didn’t, initially,” he replied. “In the beginning, I was going to leave her. I didn’t ever want to see her again. But she was in a bad way, and I had to. When I went to the hospital, she must have guessed how I felt, because she begged me not to leave her. She promised she’d kick the habit, for good; that she’d reform and be more domesticated; that she’d have other children and we’d become a real family. I just wasn’t interested. Any feeling I had had for Celine died the evening I found her with the syringe in her hand. But then later, she told me that after further examination the doctors had discovered that she would never be able to have another baby.

  “That really hit me. I was staggered. Up until then, I’d been able to convince myself that she’d brought it on herself, that she deserved everything she got. I told myself she didn’t need me. Any fool would do. But to find out that—I had been responsible for preventing her from having the family she said she wanted—that was something else.”

  “Oh, Matt!”

  “Then her father came to see me. He was pretty shaken himself. But he loved Celine, and he asked me to reconsider my position. He said that Celine had promised that this was the end so far as drugs were concerned. He said that if I left her and she cracked up, I would be responsible. Well?” His face was bleak. “Does that sound more acceptable to you?”

  “Please, Matt, try to understand how I feel…”

  His shirt was unbuttoned and he ran his hand over the fine dark hair on his chest. “How do you think I feel?” he muttered grimly. “Knowing that you’d take Barry Penrose’s word before mine!”

  “That’s not true!”

  Darrell was vehement, taking a step towards him, reaching out and touching his midriff. She felt the strong muscles contract beneath her fingers and ran her palms upward, over his chest. She was half afraid he would repulse her, but after a moment his hands came up and covered hers, pressing them against his warm skin, his eyes darkening with suppressed passion.

  “So what is the truth?” he asked tautly. “You say you love me, but what does that mean? Would you leave your safe little world for me? Would you come and live with me, even if it meant travelling half across the world without a ring on your finger?”

  Darrell looked up at him steadily. “I’d live with you anywhere,” she said gravely. “If you asked me to.”

  “Oh, darling,” he groaned huskily, gathering her close into his arms. He wound handfuls of her hair across her throat and over her lips, kissing her through its silky, sensuous softness. “If only I’d met you when I first came to London! How much different my life might have been!” Then he propelled her a few inches away from him, and said quietly: “All right, I’ll do it. I’ll ask Celine for a divorce.”

  “You will?” Her heart leapt suffocatingly.

  He nodded. “So far as I’m aware, she hasn’t touched heroin for almost five years. Perhaps that’s long enough. In any event, I can’t go on like this—seeing you and touching you and not—possessing you. I have to try. And if she refuses…” He paused. “I’ve been offered the chance to lecture in the States. I’d be away six months—throughout the autumn and winter. I said I’d consider it, and I have. It will mean leaving Galbraiths, temporarily at least, but they’ll survive. Afterwards…” He halted, looking intently down at her. “Will you come with me?”

  Darrell did not trust herself to speak. She merely nodded, a wave of almost uncontrollable excitement sweeping over her. She didn’t really know what going to the United States with him would entail, she knew it would mean giving up her job at the Sedgeley General and stepping into the unknown, but she would be with Matthew—with the man she loved—and right now that was all that mattered.

  Matthew shook his head doubtfully. “Oh, Darrell, you do realise what you’re doing, don’t you? If—if Celine should choose to be—awkward, if she should decide she doesn’t want a divorce –”

  “I’ll still come. If you want me.”

  “If I want you…” A wry smile twisted his lips. “Darrell, you can have no idea how much I want you.”

  They walked back to where Matthew had parked the car with their arms around one another. It was a wrench even to leave that quiet stretch of beach where for a few moments they had shared a taste of paradise.

  In the car, Matthew determinedly applied himself to the task of reversing on to the road again, and then he said: “You know I can’t take you anywhere for dinner looking like this.” He indicated his salt-stained shirt and trousers. “Does the idea of coming home with me appeal, waiting while I change, and then dining in London? I know an attractive little restaurant just off Piccadilly.”

  “The idea of doing anything with you appeals,” she confessed honestly, and a small smile lifted the corners of his lips.

  “Oh, love, I can’t wait to have you with me all the time. There’s so much we can do, so much I can show you, so many places I want to share with you. This trip to the States—have you ever been to America?” She shook her head, and he continued: “You’ll love it. The people are so friendly. And the scenery is magnificent. I can’t begin to describe its vastness, the deserts and canyons, the beauty of the Monterey peninsula! A friend of mine, Bob Lessor, lives on the peninsula. We can go and spend a few days with him, if you like.”

  Darrell couldn’t take it all in. It was too fantastic, too wonderful! A shiver of uneasy premonition brought goose bumps out on her arms. It was too good to be true.

  Her nerves returned more strongly when they turned into Lanark Square, a distinguished collection of town houses around a central area of trees and grass. She guessed this was where he and Celine lived, and panic brought a choking sensation to her throat.

  “But—Celine…” she protested, and he cast a sideways look at her.

  “If I know Celine, she is already ensconced in some discreetly lit cocktail lounge with David Farrell, or someone like him, preparing for another evening session,” he told her quietly.

  “But what if she’s not?”

  “You’re not afraid of her, are you?” Matthew frowned.

  Darrell shook her head. She couldn’t explain to him that the thought of Celine filled her with unease, not fear. But why? Why should she feel uneasy about Celine? What could she say—or do—to radically alter the situation? Had she so little faith in Matthew that as with Barry she was afraid of hearing something she might not like?

  Matthew brought the car to a halt outside a tall, white-painted house with geranium-filled window boxes providing a vivid splash of colour, and she turned to him impulsively.

  “Matt. You’ve known for a long time about—about Celine and other men. Why did you stay with her?”

  Matthew regarded her anxious face intently. “Why do you think?”

  Darrell shook her head, looking down at her hands. “I can’t begin to understand,” she admitted.

  “Oh, Darrell,” he exclaimed. “I don’t want there to be any secrets between us. And I’m trying to be honest with you, but—well, there are some things I’d rather forget.” He paused. “For example, when Celine came home after the accident, I couldn’t touch her.” Lines of bitterness appeared beside his mouth. “I have my share of guilt, you see. But it wouldn’t work. So far as Celine was concerned. I couldn’t –” He broke off. “Oh, God, do you want me to draw a picture?”

  “No! No!” Darrell touched his cheek wonderingly, and he turned his lips into her palm.

  “So you see, you can’t blame Celine for the way she behaves.”

  “How—how did she take it?”

  Matthew shook hi
s head. “Not well. We had terrible rows. And then—she began going out with other men, and things became—easier.”

  “And you? Were there other women?” Darrell felt cold.

  “No.“ Matthew raked a hand through his hair. “Oh, there were times when I needed a woman, but those sort of things are easy to arrange. I—simply wasn’t interested too much. There were times when I thought I’d lost the ability to sustain a relationship with a woman. And then, I met you.”

  Darrell stared at him adoringly. “Will she let you go, do you think?”

  Matthew leant forward and implanted a firm kiss on her parted lips. “I honestly don’t know. But five years is long enough for anyone to live without any love in their lives.”

  “And do you think—I will bring love into your life?” she asked huskily.

  “You’d better believe it,” he murmured, and then determinedly thrust open his door and got out, lifting his jacket, tie and briefcase from the back seat, and walking round to open her door.

  An elderly woman met them in the hall of the house. It was a beautifull hall, even Darrell had to acknowledge that, panelled in a dark wood that gleamed dully in the light admitted by a circular window above the door, whose panes were stained in various colours. There was soft green carpet underfoot that spread up a fan-shaped staircase to a railed balcony, and a vase of crimson roses stood on a delicately curved pedestal at the foot of the stairs.

  The elderly woman was obviously a housekeeper of some sort and she greeted Matthew politely while reserving a slightly doubtful air towards Darrell.

  “Good evening, Mr. Lawford. Have you had a good day, sir?”

  Her sharp eyes took in every detail of Matthew’s appearance, and Darrell wondered, rather hysterically, what she deduced from his sand and sea-stained tousers. She guessed the housekeeper was used to him returning from the City looking only slightly less distinguished than when he left in the morning.