Dark Obsession

by Valerie Marsh

  His hand left her breast and slid downward but she pushed it away. She wanted only to feel his weight and the strength of his passion, and she twisted her body round, fitting it to his.

  He moved until he was poised over her, and whispered, 'Now? Do you want me now?'

  She nodded, clutching his shoulders, her fingers biting into his flesh, but still he didn't move. Half on a sob, she said, 'Please, Grant… oh, please…' and suddenly, shockingly, he lifted himself away from her.

  Stunned, she stared at him, unable to believe at first that he wasn't merely tantalising her. Then she saw the remorseless set of his features, and he said savagely, 'And now you know what it feels like!'

  He sat up, pulling his pillow up behind him. Though she knew his desire had been as high as her own he gave no sign of it. Regarding her with narrowed eyes he was utterly unmoved as the hectic flush faded from her skin, leaving it white.

  His voice harsh he told her, 'I've been waiting all evening for that little volte-face of yours—I could see it coming. You positively sparkled down there in the dining room, leading all those poor fools on and turning yourself on at the same time. But someone should have warned you, darling, that no man likes being used as a surrogate. I may not have a yacht and a villa in the Bahamas like Ralph, but I do have enough pride left not to warm myself at the fire he lit!'

  Mutely she turned her head away, hardly crediting what she was hearing, and he went on mercilessly, 'It's too late, my lovely wife—I've learned to do without you. I'm not likely to risk reviving all that frustration again because you've had a delightful evening and you're prepared to dispense a few favours for once. If you ever decide it's me you want, just me, without the aphrodisiac of parties and other men's admiration, then let me know and we'll talk about it, but for now, no thanks. It's not worth it.'

  Contemptuously he turned his back on her, leaving her filled with bitter hurt and rage. Hurt because he could believe what was so completely untrue, and rage because he dared to talk to her of surrogates when that was all she was to him herself.

  She would have left him next morning, but when they got home, only two dogs rushed out to greet them. Ruff was dying.

  Jon, their neighbouring vet, was already with her, and he shook his head at Grant's frowning look of enquiry. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I'm afraid it's just old age and there isn't a cure for it. Shall I…?'

  Grant nodded, his lips tightening, and Fran turned quickly and went out of the room. She would leave—for her own sake she had to, but not today while he was grieving for Ruff.

  Tears flooded her eyes and she ran up to the bedroom. When she saw Grant again at lunch time they were still reddened with crying, and he said quietly, 'She was an old dog and she was almost blind. It had to happen.'

  Choked, Fran put her knife and fork down with a clatter, fumbling for her handkerchief to stem the silent flow of tears. He came round the table and held her, pressing her down-bent head against his shoulder, and she knew he must still feel something for her—enough to make him want to comfort her and ease the ache of loss, even when his own sorrow must be so much greater.

  For a few weeks she let herself drift. One day something else would happen which would tip the balance and she would take the final irrevocable step. This was the time for preparing her mind, making herself accept the inevitable, and it was curiously peaceful.

  She no longer cared what Mrs Matthews thought of her, she and Grant treated each other with calm good manners, and the weather was glorious. She spent most of each afternoon up on the hill, idly picking the wild strawberries within her reach and watching the activity of the campers down by the river. Sometimes the dogs tracked her to her hideout, and once Grant was with them. He let himself down beside her, remarking, 'So this is where you get to.'

  She nodded, wondering if he would realise it was the same spot where that fatal mistake of hers had driven him away. Remembering, she felt a faint stirring of the old excitement, and somehow it seemed to communicate itself to him, like waves picked up from the air. Without being told, she knew he was remembering as well.

  She looked across at him, seeing the once-familiar sensuality in his expression, and suddenly he was kissing her and the wild response was back. As his mouth probed hers, her hands ran under his shirt, pulling him on to her with instant, fierce desire.

  He groaned triumphantly, snatching at the buckle of his belt, then let out a vicious obscenity, and over the pounding of the blood in her ears, Fran heard the voices of a group of hikers calling to each other in the nearby woods.

  He sat up, swearing steadily, then rose and pulled her to her feet.

  'Come back to the house!'

  She followed him willingly, the heat still coursing through her as she stumbled and slid down the path, carried onward by a rush of desire which lasted until he pushed her into the bedroom and began to strip her clothes away from her with frenzied, trembling haste.

  Then the coldness settled back, paralysing her. Grant's voice, low and harsh with emotion washed round her, and despair filled her because it was no longer in her to give him what he wanted. But he hadn't sensed it yet, she realised, and she put her arms deliberately round him, moving against him as she used to, whispering the words which had once broken from her without conscious thought. He made love to her violently, his passion increased by the long denial. When she knew he was nearing the moment of release she arched herself against him, uttering smothered cries, feeling satisfaction of a kind when the tension in him broke to dissolve into uncontrollable shudders.

  Afterwards he drew away from her immediately, flinging himself on to his back to recover his breath, and she tried to conquer her hurt at the abrupt rejection. She wanted to reach out and touch him but his attitude warned her not to, and after a while he said bitterly, 'Don't ever bother to do that again!'

  'Do what?'

  'Oh, for God's sake!' he exclaimed with savage impatience. 'Did you honestly believe I wouldn't know?' He raised himself on his elbow to look at her, his expression icy. 'I've held you in my arms too many times when you weren't faking it to be fooled by you now!' He let himself fall back, one hand thrust behind his head, and in a suddenly remote voice, said, 'I could even tell the difference when you were tired sometimes and it wasn't as strong. They seem distant days now.'

  She was silent for a long time. Finally, she whispered pleadingly, 'Grant, take me back to London—we were happy there. It's here—this house—that is doing it to me. I can't explain, but it is.'

  'And once you're back among the bright lights you'll demonstrate how grateful you are,' he returned viciously. 'Oh no, madam wife! This is my home, the place where I was born, and—which is a point to be considered—the place where I work best. And I should perhaps remind you that I work from necessity as well as personal fulfilment. Money doesn't come out of a bottomless pit, and I need to be paid if I'm to go on providing you with the little luxuries which you seem to consider essential.'

  His glance flicked contemptuously over the white draperies above his head, and he left a long pause before he spoke again. 'So if you want to go back you go alone.'

  'Are you telling me to go, Grant?' she asked quietly.

  'No, merely defining your options. Just as you did mine.' He pushed himself up and sat on the edge of the bed, turning to look at her. 'If we stay here I'm permitted to make love to a woman who lies underneath me and endures it with admirable fortitude, or we can go back to town, and in return for a life of endless artificial entertainment I can be rewarded with instant, miraculous response and the return of the girl I though I was marrying.' He shook his head. 'No, my darling, no! There's a third option open to me which you don't seem to have considered, and few would blame me if I took it!'

  She had thought of it frequently, and even wondered if he had found someone else. There was obviously a danger that such an intensely physical man would seek solace elsewhere.

  But jealousy pierced through her as he made the threat, and with a blind desire to woun
d in return, she asked, 'Did you before? Is that why Julia left you?'

  'No,' he said, his voice flat. 'I was never unfaithful.'

  Oh, he wouldn't be, she thought bitterly. Not to that paragon—a woman who had left him but had still been so perfect that not the smallest suggestion of criticism could be allowed. He even apparently forgave her for deserting him. Greater love hath no man.

  She turned her face into the pillow, partially muffling the taunting note in her voice as she said, 'But Julia would never give you cause, would she? She wasn't extravagant and discontented and frigid!'

  'No,' he returned, the very evenness of his reply warning her of the fury he was keeping under control. 'And keep your jeering, spiteful little tongue off her!— in terms of sheer worth she'd make twenty of you!'

  She rolled on to her side and watched him pick his clothes up from the floor, his face contorted with anger. Because he could never say anything worse to her— nothing that could possibly hurt more than those last words—she asked, 'Why did she leave you?'

  He sent her a bitter glance, pausing in buttoning up his shirt, and his voice flat with contempt, said, 'I wouldn't give you the satisfaction of hearing me say it.'

  What satisfaction could it give her? she wondered, watching again as he slid his shoes on, snatching his finger out of the back of each one with a jerky movement which told of the suppressed rage still boiling under the surface. He stood up and swung round to face her again.

  'But one thing I will tell you! If she suddenly appeared before me now, my God, there are a few things we could get straightened out between us!'

  CHAPTER NINE

  There could be no more waiting in the hope that a miracle might happen and that first idyllic happiness be restored. Fran rang to find if her bed was still spare and was grateful when Sacha only said, 'Is it the, "I'll teach him to be such a swine", kind of thing, or is it for keeps?'

  'It's final,' Fran said, her voice quivering.

  Swiftly, Sacha said, 'Don't bother with explanations now, sweetie, they'll do when you arrive. When is it likely to be?'

  Fran couldn't tell her because she didn't really know herself. She planned to leave some time during the following week while Mrs Matthews was away and she could make her preparations without arousing suspicion, but otherwise she would just make her escape when the opportunity presented itself. At the back of her mind she was convinced that in spite of everything Grant would prevent her going if he could.

  There wasn't really a great deal that she had to do. Clothes she didn't want she took into the village for the next charity sale, and only the insurance papers and the bill of sale for her car proved difficult. Grant kept them in his desk in a drawer which was usually locked but she eventually managed to extract them. She waited then for a day when she could be certain he would be out long enough for her to pack and be well clear of the district before he discovered her absence.

  Perversely, for several days he hardly left the house, but when she was beginning to despair he announced one morning that he would be going to Worcester the following day and wouldn't be back until evening.

  She dare not speak to him before he left in case she betrayed herself and she watched him go from the window, wondering if she would ever see him again. When the car was lost from sight behind the hedges she ran up to the bedroom and followed its progress over the river and through the valley until it was only a tiny, moving blue shape. When it finally disappeared she still stared at the spot where she had last seen it, racked by sobs and an unbearable grief for the happiness she had once known and had lost.

  The crying jag left her throat raw and her head throbbing. She made herself a cup of coffee in the silent kitchen and took some painkillers, knowing she must pull herself together and control her thoughts or she would be unfit for the drive.

  But her thoughts wouldn't be controlled. She had to leave Grant a letter, but when she tried to compose it she found she was crying helplessly again and she couldn't see the page. The only word she could think of was goodbye, but she couldn't write it and in the end she crumpled the paper into a tiny unreadable ball and threw it in the waste bin. When she got to Sacha's and her astringent company had worked its balm she would have a stiff drink, two stiff drinks, and ring him.

  She splashed cold water on her eyes and stood by the window for a moment breathing deeply, then pulled two suitcases down from inside the wardrobe and began to assemble her things on the bed. To break the silence of the empty house she switched on her small radio, but the DJ's cheerful voice and songs of lost love both grated equally on her nerves and she turned it off again. Better the silence. Then she thought she heard the sound of someone on the landing and whirled quickly.

  Grant was standing in the doorway watching her, his face empty of all expression. His eyes left her to slowly scan the room, resting briefly on the pulled-out drawers and open wardrobe, and finally on her half-packed case and the pile of clothes on the bed.

  Shock at his appearance held her still. She went to speak, but at first her throat seemed paralysed. She swallowed, then said, stupidly and unnecessarily, 'I'm leaving, Grant.'

  'So I gathered,' he said, without inflexion. He advanced further into the room and thrust his hands into his pockets, reviewing her preparations with an apparent calm which she found more unnerving than rage. 'I've known you were planning it for some time.'

  'How…?' she began, then fell silent, biting her lip.

  'How did I know?' His smile was grim, only half-hiding his temper now. 'You forget this isn't new to me. It's all happened before and I can recognise the signs.'

  He walked across the room and pulled open the drawer of her dressing table. Taking out the large brown envelope he spilled the contents out on the table top. 'Passport, medical card, driving licence, insurance, letters—you've had them collected together for a week now.' He glanced at her, and crossing to the wardrobe, pulled the doors open to their full width. 'And you must think me very unobservant if you hoped I wouldn't notice that half your clothes were missing.'

  Tonelessly, Fran said, 'I thought I'd save you the trouble of clearing out after me.'

  'How considerate of you.' He paused, his hand still on the door, then said with menacing emphasis. 'But rather too hasty, because now you can put all those things back!'

  Meeting the unrelenting coldness in his expression she felt her nerves jump and was tempted to obey him. There would be other opportunities and the thought of continuing this confrontation made her feel sick. But he would be watching her in future. Having got this far it would be better to get it over with.

  Lifting her head, she said defiantly, 'No.'

  'Why argue? I took the keys out of your car as I came in so you're not going anywhere.'

  He saw her defiance fade, her shoulders slackening in acknowledgement of defeat. His eyes narrowing in an unpleasant smile, he said, 'Tell me, my dear wife, since I presume this exodus was the prelude to eventual divorce, what did you propose to tell the judge was the cause of the irretrievable breakdown of our marriage? What evidence do you think you can call up to prove that my behaviour was so unreasonable that you found it impossible to go on living with me?'

  She was silent, and his voice hardening, he demanded, 'Well? Do I get drunk? beat you? fail to maintain you in the style you expected?' A sardonic note entering, he said, 'Nor can you accuse me of adultery, in spite of an obvious temptation to go out and seek what I find so lacking in my own bed.' He shook his head. 'Under the circumstances, I think the court would be more likely to congratulate me on my forbearance.'

  She said jerkily, 'There are other, more subtle means of making yourself intolerable, which I'm sure they must realise, but I wasn't thinking of those sort of grounds anyway. It's only necessary to have lived apart for two years.'

  'Ah, but that only applies in undefended petitions with the respondent's consent,' he reminded her softly. 'And I should defend.'

  Her eyes flew to his face. Chilled by the remorseless set of his f
eatures, she whispered, 'But why? What good would it do you?'

  'Let's just say I have no desire to have everyone assume me to be the villain of the piece a second time.'

  With sudden bitterness, she said, 'It must be wonderful to be so completely convinced of your own blamelessness. The rest of us are usually a little more honest.' Drawing a deep breath to steady herself she went on, 'But I'm still leaving, with or without my things. You can't lock me up so there's no way you can stop me.'

  'Not physically,' he agreed. 'But before you do anything irrevocable I suggest we have a frank discussion. Shall we sit down?'

  Fran hesitated, then sank on to a nearby chair and watched as he pushed her clothes aside to sit on the bed.

  Evenly, he said, 'In the first place, let me make it clear you will wait the full five years for a divorce. If you put in a petition before then I shall defend it and believe me, you'd lose.'

  He paused, observing her dismay, though she knew he had misjudged the cause. She wasn't really concerned about when their marriage officially ended. It was the thought that it would be done in a spirit of hostility and rancour that appalled her.

  She lowered her lashes, trying to appear unaffected, and he continued, 'Secondly, don't fondly imagine I shall keep you during all this time. Once you walk out of here, that's it. You can sue for maintenance but I wouldn't advise it. By the time my lawyers had finished with you and it had been plastered all over the more sensational papers, you'd have achieved nothing beyond a very damaging notoriety. Think about it.'

  'I don't need to!' she flashed scornfully. 'I'm not asking for anything from you.' She felt a sterile satisfaction at the fleeting surprise in his eyes. Almost immediately it was replaced by cynicism, and fighting to keep a note of pleading from her voice, she asked, 'Why can't we be civilised about this, Grant? What's the point in opposing me and making me wait for a divorce? You'll be tying yourself as well as me.'