Dark Obsession

by Valerie Marsh

  We do indeed, Fran thought wearily. It was apparent that it would be of no use to pretend a desire she didn't feel in order to salvage Grant's sexual pride. Purely physical evidence over which she had no control would always give her the lie.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Grant was curt with her at breakfast. They hardly spoke, and he finished eating and was gone while she still toyed listlessly with a single slice of toast. He had started to break in a couple of his young horses and would probably be gone till lunch time. Fran sat at the piano and doggedly practised her scales and exercises, though her mind kept returning to the previous night and her concentration was poor. In one bar she made the same mistake over and over again. Annoyed with herself she determined to get it right, vaguely hoping at the same time that she was irritating Mrs Matthews.

  It was perhaps the twentieth time she had played it when Grant burst in. His face white with rage he exploded, 'For God's sake, give it a rest! How the hell do you expect me to get any writing done with that racket in the next room!'

  He was breathing quickly, his hands clenched at his sides, and for a moment she was frozen over the keys. He had pushed the door open so violently that it slammed into the sideboard, rocking all the ornaments dangerously. Wetting her lips, she said in quick nervousness, 'I'm sorry, I thought you were out. You usually write in the afternoon and evening.'

  'Try looking through the window,' he invited with biting sarcasm. 'Nobody in their right mind would go out in rain like that unless they were forced to.'

  'I'm sorry,' she repeated. 'I know it's raining, but you could have been out in the car somewhere. You don't tell me what you're doing half the time.'

  'And you don't ask,' he retorted harshly. He paused in an attempt to bring his temper under control. 'Fran, you do nothing but moon round this house all day looking discontented. All right, I've noticed and you've made your point. We'll go back to London in the autumn—six months here for me, six months there for you. Now do you think you could possibly make my half a little easier? There must surely be something you can interest yourself in apart from that bloody piano!'

  Ostentatiously Fran closed the lid and twisted round on the stool to face him. Inside she was quivering, her own temper as high as his. 'Embroidering cushion covers?' she suggested sweetly. 'Visiting old Mrs Burgess in the village?'

  His mouth tightened ominously but for once she didn't care. It had been intended as a jibe at Julia and she had intended him to know it.

  He swung on his heel but turned back in the doorway, his expression bleak. 'It wouldn't do you any harm,' he told her blisteringly. 'You do damn all else!'

  He slammed the door and Fran sat where she was feeling ashamed. She could go to see Mrs Burgess—she nearly had done the last time she visited her aunt, but she had been too unsure of herself. She was Fran, the blacksmith's niece, and she had been afraid that if she tried to take over Julia's role it would prove a resounding failure.

  Grant emerged from his study for lunch and once more they ate in almost total silence. As they were drinking their coffee, Fran said, 'Grant, I'm sorry about this morning.'

  'Forget it.'

  His tone was indifferent and she drew a deep breath. 'I'll make sure I never do it again and I've apologised At least accept it.'

  'All right.' He leaned forward and put his cup down on the table with an abrupt movement. 'I admit I was bad tempered anyway. The play isn't going very well.'

  The frown had gone but he was still unsmiling. Fran knew it wasn't the play but the remembrance of last night and his failure to get her to respond to him that had caused his ill-temper. Somehow she had to overcome this void within her or there would be nothing to keep them together. It perhaps wasn't a good time to do it, but she had to broach the subject of Mrs Matthews as well.

  Moving her cup round her saucer she said hesitantly, 'And what you said to me was right—I don't do much, but it isn't from choice.' She raised her eyes. 'I know you can't sack Mrs Matthews, but couldn't you retire her? Pay her up to the time she would be leaving anyway?'

  His face settled into lines of impatience. 'Fran, you're letting her obsess you—it's preventing you from thinking straight. Even if I did pay her off, we still have to have someone living in. Quite apart from the dogs, we can't go off and leave the place empty for months on end. And it would make you highly unpopular in the village if you got rid of her after all the years she's been here, not to mention making your aunt uncomfortable.'

  Depressed, Fran said, 'I suppose you're right, but you don't know what it's like having her here all the time.' She caught his sardonic gaze and realised how stupid her remark must sound to him. 'I can't do anything in the house without her watching and silently criticising, and I never know when she's creeping up on me.' She took a deep breath. 'If I move things she alters them back.'

  'You'll just have to assert yourself more,' he said, his impatience open now.

  Fran knew he couldn't understand how difficult she found it to assert herself over someone so much older. The war over moving things had been going on for several days. To Grant it would seem trivial and petty, but Fran knew it was more than a malicious game. Mrs Matthews was determined that nothing in the house should be changed. To her, it was a shrine to the living. Perhaps it was to Grant as well. Perhaps she was just meant to fit into it exactly as it was, four inches taller and eight years younger than the woman whose place she had taken, but in all other respects the same.

  Grant stayed in his study all evening, and he was still there when Fran went to bed. She lay reading, then became aware that the faint sound of the typewriter had ceased and he was coming up. Apprehension made her suddenly tense, but she realised there was no need for it when he switched his own light off at once and turned his back to her. As he settled the bedclothes round himself he said, 'Carry on reading if you want to.'

  For a moment she was stunned. Always before, even when they had rowed, he had kissed her or made some sort of gesture before he went to sleep. She said, 'Grant…?'

  He half-raised his head from the pillow in mute question, and after a moment she said numbly, 'Nothing.'

  Still with his head raised he allowed a pause, then said in a level voice, 'I've paid some money into your account, by the way. You should have told me you were overdrawn—it doesn't reflect very favourably on me, particularly when it's with the same bank.'

  She tried to summon back some of the angry bravado that had made her order all the new things for the bedroom, but there was only a sick dread. At the first opportunity she rang the store and tried to cancel them, but most of them were being specially made and it was too late. Thankfully, both Grant and Mrs Matthews were out when they arrived. She felt as though she really would have died if they had been there to witness the new mattress being carried in and up the stairs. She gave the delivery men a generous tip to manoeuvre the old one into the attic, and knew that they too were puzzled as to why an expensive, good-quality item in perfect condition was being stored away in the dust.

  She hastily re-made the bed and hung the curtains. When she had finished she realised she had merely made the room look dull by her efforts and the flounced white curtains round the bed were totally out of keeping. During the afternoon, Grant observed cynically, 'I see you've been busy,' but he made no other comment. She supposed he must eventually have received the bill.

  If the new mattress had proved to have any magic properties it would all have been worth it, but it didn't. Grant was a man with a high sex drive but he turned to her less and less. When he did it was no longer lovemaking, but a silent sating of lust. Because he knew he could no longer arouse her he ceased to make the attempt, rolling quickly away from her afterwards to leave her staring into the darkness with a tension in her body which would neither build up nor recede. Finally, his demands stopped altogether. She suspected he was afraid that one night he might find himself impotent with her and the risk of humiliation outweighed his desire.

  Strangely, they now developed an
easier relationship. Grant bought her a horse, which she loved, and riding round she re-discovered some of her childhood friends who had married locally. Most of them had children, and she remembered how badly she had once wanted to have Grant's child. When they first came back she had asked him tentatively if he would like a family. He had been a long time replying, and then he had said, 'If you would.' It hadn't been the answer she wanted so she had waited. She was never likely to have one now, and visiting friends who were mothers left her feeling restless and dissatisfied.

  It was Grant's birthday in June and she toured countless secondhand shops for an out-of-print book which she knew he wanted. Flushed with triumph, she handed it to him, beautifully wrapped, on the day. She held her breath as he took the paper off, ridiculing herself because she was placing so much store on him liking it, and relaxed when she saw his smile of pleasure.

  'It's in good condition,' she pointed out. 'All pages present and correct. I checked.'

  He put it carefully down on the table, then pulled her towards him and kissed her forehead. 'You're a clever girl. I've been looking for it for years. Where did you manage to find it?'

  'A bookshop near Ross, but I searched dozens before that. I did come across another one, but all the notes and Bibliography were missing from the back and it was terribly tatty besides.'

  'This one's a beauty.' He picked it up to examine it again and smiled at her. 'Thank you.'

  He went back to his study shortly afterwards. But Fran was light-hearted, and in the afternoon, on impulse, she went in to him and said, 'Grant let's go out somewhere tonight—just the two of us.'

  He looked up in quick surprise, and she added nervously, 'Unless you're busy.'

  For a moment he was silent, then he swung his chair round away from the typewriter. 'No, I'm not particularly busy. Where would you like to go?'

  'Just for a meal somewhere.'

  'Any preference?'

  'No. At least…' She wavered, then went on, 'I think I'd like to go somewhere we haven't been before. Perhaps a bit further afield.'

  'All right. I'll see what I can come up with.'

  He reached for his diary and began to thumb through the telephone numbers and addresses in the back, and Fran left him to it and went back to dead-heading the roses in the garden. A few minutes later he opened his study window and called, 'Booked.'

  She looked up, sweeping the hair from her eyes with the back of her hand, and anticipating her question, he told her, 'It's a hotel where I've stopped for lunch a couple of times.' His eyes took in her tousled hair and the old skirt she had put on for gardening, and he smiled faintly. 'You'll need to wear something rather more sophisticated than your present attire.'

  'I won't disgrace you,' she returned gaily, then bit her lip as she saw his smile fade.

  Expressionless now, he said smoothly, 'That, my dear, is one thing I have never been afraid of.'

  Her eyes blind with tears, Fran went on cutting the withered blooms. It hadn't been a good idea and she was tempted to tell him to forget all about it. Things were better when neither of them offered more than polite friendship. Her heart aching, she remembered how they had once laughed together. Her occasional disasters in cooking and the time she had turned all his shirts blue in the wash had seemed funny to them, but now there was never any laughter.

  The hotel was an hour's drive away, and when they got there the forecourt was crowded so that Grant had difficulty in parking. Inside he surveyed the packed lounge with a frown and said, 'I'm sorry, I'm afraid you're going to have to stand. The place seems to have become a lot more popular since I was last here.'

  He found her a space in the corner of the bar, then moved further along to get their drinks. Immediately he was hailed by a group from the other end, and Fran saw they were part of the wealthy crowd who owned summer cottages by the river on the scenic borders with Wales. They were a free-spending, hard-drinking set which Grant quietly despised, and her heart sank when they beckoned her over.

  Hesitantly she accepted the seat they offered her and hoped Grant would extricate her once he'd got their drinks. The wives measured success by the amount of jewellery they could boast and the depth of their winter tan, and she knew they were wondering why a well-known personality like Grant should have married an obscure model.

  It was Grant they were interested in, not her. Subtly patronising, one of the women asked her what it was like being married to someone famous, and in self-defence Fran began stressing the false glamour of the parties and dinners.

  She was talking animatedly, making it sound exciting and enviable, when she became aware of Grant's silent presence at her shoulder. How long he had been listening she didn't know, and she flinched inwardly as his sardonic gaze flickered over her. He handed her drink to her and moved away, and she watched him playing up to the muted adulation he was receiving, acting out the part of the celebrity and secretly demonstrating to her his contempt of the flattery. Meeting his eyes she saw the glitter of mockery there, as much for her as the others she knew, and thought grimly that she didn't need a morality play from him to point out the shortcomings of the present company.

  She made no objection when it was suggested they should all eat together, though Grant agreed without consulting her anyway. They were seated opposite each other and she could see him deliberately exerting all his charm on the women on either side of him. He was arrestingly handsome and his looks alone were enough to turn any woman's head, though until tonight he had never given any sign that he was aware of his own attraction. He was behaving abominably, but she was the only one who knew it because the two women were too dazzled to realise he was laughing at them.

  Seething, she turned to the man on her right. He had made overtures earlier but her cool response discouraged him and she knew he had dismissed her as good looking but dull. Now, she gave him a slow smile and switched on the sex appeal she had been taught to project for the camera.

  She saw the man pause in eating and look quickly across at Grant, and said smoothly, 'Isn't that your wife?'

  Her message was plain. Grant's conduct with his wife meant they were in no position to complain. She let her eyes convey an invitation, and the man—searching her memory she recalled his name was Ralph—leaned towards her. From the other side of the table she saw Grant's gaze flick towards her and realised he had never seen her like this before, deliberately enticing. She smiled at him, the same inviting smile she had given Ralph, challenging him to object to what she was doing, and after a moment he gave her a glance of amused contempt and turned back to Ralph's wife at his side.

  She wasn't sure whether it was the amusement or the derision which stung most, but after that she behaved outrageously. By the end of the evening there wasn't one of the wives who didn't hate her and Ralph was under the impression that she was eager to join him for a week-end on his yacht if she could escape her husband. By now Grant was far from amused by her, but she thought defiantly that it served them all right. It would teach them to be more careful whom they patronised in the future.

  It was late by the time the gathering finally broke up, and she and Grant were the last to leave. When they got to the forecourt the Daimler was standing alone, and she heard Grant mutter an obscenity under his breath.

  He strode quickly towards it, and following at a slower pace, Fran asked, 'What is it?'

  Curtly, he said, 'Someone's slashed the tyres.'

  She saw then that the angle of the car was down at the back and there were deep, zigzag scratches scored in the paintwork.

  'Who could do such a thing?' she said, sick with disgust.

  'Perhaps the wife of one of the men who was making a play for you,' he suggested with grim humour. He shoved at one of the tyres with his foot. 'Well, I've only got one spare wheel so we're not going anywhere in it tonight. We either phone for a taxi or see if the hotel can put us up. Which would you rather do?'

  'Whichever you think would be the easiest.'

  He shrugged. 'If they'v
e got a room it would be simpler to stay. I can get some new tyres put on in the morning and drive it home instead of coming back for it.'

  The hotel had got a room and the night porter even managed to provide them with a toothbrush. Otherwise of course, they had nothing. Coming out of the bathroom, Fran debated whether to sleep in her bra and pants, but she could imagine Grant's mocking reaction if she did, so she undressed hurriedly and pulled the clothes up round herself while he was washing. He suffered from no such constraints himself and moved unselfconsciously round the room, hanging up his shirt and laying his clothes flat since he must wear them tomorrow.

  Slow, insidious warmth began to steal through her as she followed him with her eyes. The strange room, the unaccustomed quantity of wine she had drunk, Grant's powerful nakedness, all combined to set her pulses throbbing. She caught his eye and swallowed, and for a second his movements were arrested before he carried on folding his trousers into their creases.

  The bed was narrower than their king-size one at home and his hip brushed against her as he was tossing one of his pillows on to the floor. The contact told him she was equally naked and she waited tensely to see if he would react. She dared make no move herself. Her behaviour earlier had angered him and he was quite likely to reject her. Any advance must come from him.

  It seemed a long time that she waited, but then he turned towards her. Holding her with his eyes he reached out slowly and ran his hand down her throat, then onward to enclose her breast. She quivered, and a deep shudder of delight shook her. As though unable to believe the evidence of touch he drew back the sheet to expose her tautly erect nipples to his gaze, and satisfaction leapt in his eyes as he lowered his head to draw first one then the other into his mouth.

  Desire flamed in her, catching her breath with its violence, her need all the more desperate for having lain so long dormant. Grant gave a husky laugh as he transferred his lips to hers, and exultantly she felt the manifestation of his arousal hard against her thigh.