by Penny Jordan
‘As I said,’ he told her contemptuously as he studied her, ‘I know your type.’
And then, without another word or look, he walked past her, opened the door and went out into the yard.
Livvy couldn’t move. Her body felt stiff and cold, every joint and muscle ached, but the pain she was suffering physically was nothing compared with her mental anguish, her shock and self-revulsion.
What on earth had come over her? Why had she let him humiliate her like that? She was not sexually promiscuous, not easily aroused to physical desire, not someone who normally allowed herself to get out of control.
She started to shake. She felt sick with self-revulsion and shame. Close to tears, she went upstairs.
Why on earth had she let him do that to her? Why on earth had she been stupid enough to throw down that idiotic challenge in the first place?
If she hadn’t given Gale her word that she would stay, she would be packing her things right now, ready to admit defeat rather than have to face him again and to see in his eyes, in his manner towards her, how much he was relishing his victory over her. But she had given Gale her promise, and the situation her cousin was in was of far more importance than her own feelings.
She froze as she heard footsteps on the stairs, unable to relax properly even when they went past her room and she heard the opening and then the closing of the door of the bedroom he had decided to occupy.
It made no difference telling herself that she had not been the only one to be aroused; that he too… In fact it had just the opposite effect, causing her to shudder deeply with self-disgust as she fought to deny her awareness of how at the time, in his arms, held close against his body, the primitive female core of her had actually relished the hard, aroused feel of him against her.
Since she couldn’t escape from him by running away, the only alternative left to her was to ignore him, to brazen it out and pretend that she was totally unaffected by what had happened, to behave not just as though she was totally unaware of his contempt, but also totally indifferent to it.
To behave, in effect, as the sort of woman he claimed he knew her to be would behave.
What, after all, was worse? Which would make her more vulnerable…allowing him to believe that she was a sexual opportunist who responded to her body’s desire for sex with whatever man happened to be available, or letting him guess the truth, that her reaction to him, the way she had behaved in his arms, the response she had felt, was so far outside her normal experience that she had been totally overwhelmed by it, unable to either control it or defend herself against it?
She tensed as she heard him going back downstairs, relaxing only when she heard the slam of his car door and then the sound of the engine.
He had gone out. Thank goodness. If only he might never come back.
Who knew, perhaps by fulfilling Richard Field’s scathing description of what she was, she might not only be able to conceal from him how vulnerable he made her feel, but perhaps cause him such irritation and revulsion that he might actually leave?
His departure would not necessarily prevent George from finding another buyer for the farmhouse, but it would at least give Gale some extra time to sort things out with her husband.
Attack was supposed to be the best form of defence, she reminded herself, so instead of cowering nervously and becoming filled with humiliation, the next time Richard Field chose to denigrate her verbally—or physically—perhaps she ought to show him just how much a ‘woman of a certain type’ she could be.
He had used those words deliberately to humiliate her. Well, now perhaps she ought to think about finding a way of using them against him.
CHAPTER FIVE
LIVVY paced restlessly round the kitchen. Richard Field had been gone for almost an hour. Where was he? When would he be back…?
She stopped abruptly. Why should she concern herself with him? Wasn’t it far more sensible simply to carry on with her plans as though he had never arrived to upset and unnerve her?
There was that long list of chores Gale had given her for a start, and Monsieur Dubois had left before she had had an opportunity to ask him about the gas supply to the cooker and fridge.
She had no idea how much or how little might be left in the existing containers, but common sense told her that it would be a good idea not only to have a reserve supply but also to know that she was able to change over the canisters when necessary. They looked heavy, and she suspected that the betraying signs of rust on the connections would mean that a certain amount of brute force might be necessary to release an empty container and replace it with a fresh one.
No doubt, along with the generator, the farmer had deemed this a male area of skill and knowledge, but she did not want to be left in a position where she was dependent on Richard Field, not only for lighting and hot water, but for cooking as well…
She had stoked the range, unpacked and put away her clothes and the provisions, cleaned the kitchen and explored the rest of the house, apart from the bedroom which Richard Field had commandeered.
As Gale had rightly said, the farmhouse, while structurally sound, needed a considerable amount of work doing on it.
‘No way will that one antiquated bathroom be enough,’ she had told Livvy, ‘especially if we invite friends down. I’ve told George we’ll need at least two extra bathrooms, one for us, one for guests, and possibly a shower-room as well.’
‘I’ve spoken to the local builder—he’s Monsieur Dubois’ cousin. Of course, he pretended at first that he would be too busy to do anything for months, but they all try that on… I want you to go and see him, Livvy, and remind him that I want work started on the alterations this summer. I’ve given you a list of the bathroom fittings and the sanitaryware. When you order it, make sure the plumber gives you a firm delivery date…’
It was a great pity that Gale herself couldn’t have been here, Livvy reflected feelingly. With her cousin to contend with, Richard Field would have found himself in a very different situation indeed.
Since she was here for the whole summer, she did not really need to tackle the list of instructions Gale had given her immediately, but she suspected that her cousin would expect her to deal with them with the same gusto and determination which she herself would have exhibited, and besides, she felt too tense and on edge to relax properly and too off balance still to want to be here when Richard Field got back.
Gale, typically well organised, had supplied her with maps and even given her a list of places of local interest, the hill town of Rocamadour, the caves and under-ground lake aptly named River Styx of Gouffre de Padirac. She had been looking forward to exploring the region, to enjoying its richly wooded countryside and famous rivers; she had been looking forward to peace and solitude, to an opportunity to replenish her spiritual and mental resources. Now…
Now she was a seething, agitated mass of jangling nerves and tensions.
She drove first to the farm, to thank Madame Dubois for her kind welcoming gift and to submit herself to the older woman’s appraisal and inspection.
It would have been an affront to madame were she not the first to be able to report on the new visitor.
Livvy’s French ancestry, already known to madame, was re-examined and discussed, madame’s probing enquiries as to the reasons for Gale’s and the children’s non-appearance gently sidestepped, and Livvy was on the point of leaving when madame commented to her that monsieur, her friend, also spoke excellent French.
Did he too have the benefit of French blood in his veins? madame asked her.
Livvy checked. It was obvious that Monsieur Dubois had told his wife that they were lovers, and Livvy had the frustrating conviction that, no matter how much she tried to tell the older woman the truth, she would not be able to convince her.
The countryperson’s mind was an earthy one, Livvy knew that, but nevertheless it galled that already in the minds of local people she was seen as Richard Field’s lover.
Resisting the impulse
to tell madame that she neither knew nor cared what Richard Field’s ancestry was, she took her leave of her.
Her next port of call was the home of Monsieur Dubois’ cousin, the builder. As Livvy had expected, he was out, but his wife made her welcome, listening while Livvy explained her mission.
Armand, her husband, had only the previous day mentioned the work he had promised to do for madame, her cousin, she told Livvy.
From the village, Livvy drove on to the local market town, not because she was reluctant to return to the farmhouse—and potentially Richard Field, she assured herself—but she was after all supposed to be on holiday, enjoying herself and relaxing, and she certainly could not do that with such an antagonistic, overbearing, judgemental and totally impossible man about.
The market town was small and pretty, surrounded by heavily wooded countryside, its dominating architectural feature the stone bridge spanning the river. As she drove across it, she saw half a dozen men fishing on its banks. George was a keen fisherman, part of the reason he and Gale had opted to buy the farmhouse. But now it seemed there would be little chance of her cousin and her husband spending long family summer holidays here.
Sadly, Livvy parked her car, a fresh anger stirring against Richard Field for adding to the stress Gale must already be under. From his comments, it was obvious that he was well aware of the discord between Gale and George. As George’s friend, he should be advising him to repair the damage to his marriage, not seeking to take advantage of the situation by trying to push through an underhand deal to buy the farmhouse.
However, from the opinions he had expressed to her, it was obvious just how he looked upon her sex, Livvy acknowledged, and as she headed towards the small market square her face burned as she recalled his comments to her and how he had reacted when she…
She stopped walking, her body tensing as she tried to reject the sharp thrill of sensation quivering through her.
She was not really sexually responsive to him, she denied. That had just been a momentary aberration, a brief heartbeat of misjudgement by her bemused senses. It meant nothing, and if just now, remembering, she had for one unnerving second actually felt her body quiver into unexpected awareness, her mouth soften as though it could actually physically recall the intense sensuality of his kiss, then that meant nothing too.
The small town was very quiet. Good French housewives did their shopping early in the day, when things were still fresh and choice abundant. Now the town drowsed in the later afternoon sunshine, the small group of men seated outside the bar on the edge of the square watching Livvy with admiring interest as she crossed their line of vision.
Tempted by the cool shade promised by a narrow alleyway leading off the square, Livvy walked down it, pausing outside a small bookshop.
In England she had not given much thought to how she would occupy her evenings; she had plenty of work to do preparing things for the new school term; she had her radio and tapes, and had assumed that, after long, lazy days spent exploring the countryside, she would be only too glad to have some early nights.
That, though, had been before she had discovered that she would be sharing the farmhouse with Richard Field. Somehow she could not imagine herself feeling relaxed enough to do that while he was around.
She would need something to occupy her time, to put a safe, uncrossable distance between them. She went into the bookshop, emerging over half an hour later, after an enjoyable conversation with the proprietress, carrying a parcel which contained the two novels she had bought.
Yes, they should keep her well and truly occupied for the next few evenings, and make it clear to a certain wrong-headed male that she was quite definitely not interested in him. All she had to do was to sit tight and wait for him to leave. He couldn’t be planning to stay very long—could he?
As she drove back to the farmhouse, the closer she got to her destination, the slower she was driving, Livvy recognised. What was wrong with her? She wasn’t afraid of him, was she?
Not afraid, but his assessment of her, his denunciation of her, however wildly wrong they might have been, had left her feeling vulnerable as well as angry.
Was it that, or was it that shatteringly unexpected brief reaction to him which was disturbing her?
Uncomfortable with her thoughts, Livvy drove into the farmyard and discovered to her relief that there was no sign of the BMW.
Garaging her own car in one of the large empty buildings, she gathered up her purchases and headed for the house, stopping in surprise when she saw the small, thin cat waiting hopefully by the door.
Automatically she bent down to stroke it, smiling as it responded with a loud purr, weaving itself round her legs.
Although its tabby coat was glossy, its body was thin, the amber eyes pleadingly hopeful as Livvy reached into her handbag for her keys. It had probably come from one of the local farms, she acknowledged, as she opened the door and it followed her inside, and just as probably wasn’t likely to be missed… It had the lean outline of a farmyard hunter rather than a domestic pet, although it seemed to have all the instincts of the latter, from the way it had greeted her and was now making straight for the warmth of the range.
She hadn’t the heart to put it back outside, and before very long Livvy discovered that she was responding with shameful weakness to the silent plea in the amber eyes, pouring it a saucer of milk and rooting through her provisions until she came across a tin of sardines.
Quelling her conscience by telling herself that, as a farm cat, it would probably be a good mouser, she tried not to listen to the sharp voice of her conscience warning her that Gale might not be too pleased about her new house guest.
An hour later, as she sat down to enjoy the omelette she had just made and drink the glass of clean, sharp-tasting if a little rough local wine she had bought, she reflected that if it had not been for Richard Field’s unwanted presence life would be not very far short of perfect.
The kitchen warmed by the range and scented with the rich smell of her cooking, the cat half sleeping, half purring by the fire in front of her; the familiar comforting and yet exciting ambience of a French country kitchen; in the half-light of dusk, stirring memories of happy childhood holidays in Brittany, all combined to make her aware of how much tension she had been under lately, how little time she had had for enjoying this kind of simple pleasure and relaxation.
And if she accepted the assistant headship, there would be even less time. She had gone into teaching because she wanted to teach, and the dilemma she now found herself facing depressed her.
Of course she wanted to progress—who wouldn’t? But as a teacher, not an administrative manager.
She wondered if Gale had had any success in getting in touch with George. She must phone her. She was frowning as she carried her empty plate and glass over to the sink. Richard Field still hadn’t returned. Where was he?
It irked her that she should be so preoccupied with him. It was just because he had made her so angry, she told herself as she washed the things she had used.
Gale and George were going to have to spend a good deal of money if they were to achieve all the improvements Gale wanted, Livvy reflected as she dialled her cousin’s telephone number. In Gale’s shoes, she wasn’t sure she would want to go ahead with putting the work in hand in view of the problems she and George were facing, but Gale had been adamant when she spoke to her that she was not going to let what she had described as George’s foolishness change her plans.
As Livvy waited for her cousin to answer her call, she frowned unhappily. It upset her to know that her cousin was having matrimonial problems, for the children’s sakes as well as for Gale’s and George’s. For George actually to take steps to sell the farmhouse without telling Gale was the last thing she would have expected him to do.
Gale wasn’t answering the phone; she must be out. Livvy replaced the receiver and removed the list of chores Gale had given her from her handbag, placing it on the table.
While s
he was studying it, the cat jumped up on to her knee, miaowing plaintively. Laughing, Livvy stroked her. The cat responded with a loud purr and settled herself comfortably on Livvy’s lap.
‘Oh, no, you don’t,’ Livvy told her. ‘I’m going upstairs to have a shower and an early night. You, I’m afraid, are going to have to go out…’
The cat purred more loudly. Perhaps in the morning she would be gone, back from wherever she had come from, Livvy reflected. If so, she would miss her; there was something comforting about her presence, something reassuring. She stood up with the cat in her arms and then froze as she heard the sound of a car’s engine and saw its headlights as it turned into the yard.
Richard Field was back. Only now did Livvy acknowledge how much a part of her had been hoping that he had changed his mind…done the decent thing and decided to leave.
She wasn’t the kind of person who enjoyed confrontation or arguments, but she wouldn’t, couldn’t let him bully her into giving way to him.
Still holding the cat, she waited for him to appear, watching as the door-handle turned and the door itself opened inwards.
For a moment, as he saw her, he looked almost shocked, and then he demanded grimly, ‘Hasn’t anyone warned you about the dangers of leaving doors unlocked? Anyone could have walked in. Or was that perhaps what you were waiting for?’ he added softly, his mouth curling into a cynical, derogatory smile. ‘I don’t suppose a woman like you can go very long without sex. Who is it this time? Another casual pick-up like the one at the auberge?’
Livvy clutched the cat tightly, ignoring the small protesting sound it made, tension holding her body stiffly upright, her mind flinching from his words as though they were actual physical blows, but she refused to let him see how much his accusations and attitude had affected her.
She was not even going to dignify them by denying them. She had no need to prove anything to him, defend herself from remarks which all those who knew her would have found laughably absurd. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that, contrary to what he had imagined, she had not invited those unwanted attentions—and to add that it was no thanks to him that she had escaped being raped.