A Durable Fire

by Robyn Donald

‘I want you.’ She had said it and she was not going to regret it.

  ‘Show me.’

  So she showed him, and told him, her voice throaty and slurred as she indulged her imagination with a hidden desperation. Tonight would be all that she would have of him.

  Her whispered love-words hung on the throbbing air until he cut them off with his deep kisses. Then, made wanton by her needs and his desire, she explored him as he had her, shaping him, discovering him by taste and touch and scent, every sense she possessed. At last he groaned in anguish and they came together again in an ecstasy of sensation that left her without thought, without the ability to move.

  ‘Now sleep,’ he murmured, and they slept locked together like the ancient Chinese symbol of Yin and Yang, the male and female principles joined to make a perfect whole.

  When the night was darkest she woke again to the sound of his voice as he whispered in her ear. It was no startled awakening. Before her mind had assimilated his presence her body had known, responding with a surge of fire to the hand that caressed her slim nakedness.

  Wordlessly she turned to him, burying her face in his throat, her open mouth tasting the faint film of salt on his warm smooth skin.

  ‘Circe,’ he muttered, his voice heavy with desire and something else, a dark emotion she refused to recognise. ‘What kind of spell do you use to enslave a man? Do you sing incantations under the moon to sap will-power and rot strength until honour is gone? I hate you and despise you, and yet for weeks now all I’ve felt is this frantic need to lose everything, lose myself in the hot sorcery of your body.’

  For a moment the pains swamped her, clutching at her heart with vicious talons. But she shivered, breaking free from it, refusing to accept it. For beneath the calculated cruelty of his words there had been a stark need, an admission that she had a power over him greater than any other woman. The knowledge was bitter to him but a glory to her. Tomorrow they would part as enemies, but when he remembered her, and he would, he would remember that she alone could make him groan out his need for her, strong body trembling with a hunger greater than the logic of his quick cold brain or his hard self-control. She had pierced the armour of his self-sufficiency; part of his hatred was because he was a proud man, and until she had come no other person had ever done that.

  Her mouth curved as she let her head fall back on to the pillow. Her hands came up to his shoulders, and she pushed him away.

  ‘No spell, no incantations,’ she said huskily, her voice as soft as a moth’s flight. ‘See, I’m not holding you here. You’re free to go.’

  Against the starshine his shoulders loomed over her, dark before the paler oblong that revealed the position of the french windows. Arminel’s eyes were accustomed to the faint radiance. She could see the taut line of his jaw, the dark hollows where his eyes burned, the movement in his throat as he swallowed. After a moment he swung away, pulling himself up to sit on the side of the bed. He sat motionless, shoulders hunched.

  Arminel lay motionless while through her body the tide of desire flowed, suffusing every cell, every nerve, calling him back, promising him oblivion after raptures he could not even begin to imagine. She did not have to see him to know the forces that were tearing at him, pride warring with lust, anger and bitterness with a contempt he had to accept as directed towards himself.

  If I loved him, she thought, I would be in agony for him. But I do not love him. It seemed important to cling to that belief.

  From beneath her lowered lashes her eyes gleamed. And when he lost that battle with himself she knew before he swore and came with a lunge back on to the bed ready to use her in anger and a fierce despair.

  Only to find that he could not. Somehow she knew that for him this was the greatest defeat; her body welcomed him and the harsh invasion was transformed into a taking and giving so erotically charged that when it reached its climax an identical storm of sensation broke over both of them.

  How long did it take for strength to return? She never knew, content to lie relaxed in total release while slowly the beat of both hearts faded into regularity and the dawn crept closer.

  Then they both slept, heart to heart, limbs entwined, covered by a sheet, as the birds sang in the new day, Arminel’s last day at Te Nawe. Not that Arminel cared for that. She was capable of feeling only a sensual satiation that left her sleek and replete as though her body was made of velvet and silk, her mind long ceasing to struggle with logic and reason.

  When she opened her eyes again it was against the dull grey light of dawn on a cloudy day. A rough grip on her shoulder shook her head from side to side; she felt a sharp stinging pain in her cheek as it was slapped. Wincing, her swollen lips pursed in protest, she opened heavy eyes and stared into Rhys’s livid face.

  ‘What—?’ she muttered, covering her eyes with her hand as she struggled up on to her elbow. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’

  ‘You ask me that?’ His contempt flicked her on the raw, making her wince again. ‘From what Kyle said when I met him just now on his way to his own bedroom you’ve had a busy night. Fun?’

  ‘Oh, God!’ she breathed wearily, sinking back on to the pillow. This was worse than anything else Kyle had done to her; he had deliberately flung her to the wolves. And although it was only Rhys’s pride that was hurt it was still painful for him. She could see the resentment and anger in his face now. Somehow she was going to have to make things better.

  ‘Your brother is a bastard,’ she said shakily, pushing her hair back from her face.

  ‘And you’re a bitch,’ he remarked with unpleasant emphasis, watching the lines of her breast beneath the sheet. ‘How long has it been going on, Arminel? Since you got here? You and Kyle must have had a lot of fun laughing at me!’ He watched her flush and added cruelly, ‘When can I expect an announcement of the engagement?’

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ she said, closing her eyes momentarily. ‘You know as well as I do that Kyle doesn’t think I’m good enough for you . . .’

  ‘—and I’m inclined to agree with him,’ he interpolated crudely.

  ‘. . . so there’s no likelihood of him doing anything stupid like marrying me,’ she finished, adding with a smile that trembled, ‘Just a bit of crumpet, I think that’s the correct term, isn’t it? And last night was the first, last and only time. I’m leaving today.’

  Rhys stared down at her, then said coolly, ‘Well, I think you’re wise. You’re quite right about Kyle, of course. He’ll probably marry Patrice Gribble. If he offers to set you up in Auckland in return for visiting rights what will you say?’

  She looked away. ‘Do you really want to know?’

  He nodded.

  ‘I’ll thank him prettily and say no. I want to go back home.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Hands thrust into his pockets, he walked across the room, stopping at the doorway to say rather insolently, ‘I’ll write you a cheque for your air tickets. I don’t want you to be out of pocket.’

  ‘You needn’t bother.’ She could have flinched at the ring of arrogance in his voice, but although she was not a Beringer and did not move in their circles she had pride too. Her head lifted, her face was expressionless as she finished, ‘I’ll chalk it all up to experience. Good luck, Rhys.’

  He hesitated, then said, ‘For you, too,’ and was gone. He even whistled as he passed Kyle’s door.

  Pride again. Well, he hadn’t made such a bad job of salvaging his. In a year’s time he would probably be happily reconciled to marriage with Davina and he’d barely be able to recall Arminel’s face.

  Choking back a sob, she turned her head into the pillow. In a year’s time she probably wouldn’t remember what Rhys looked like, but she knew that Kyle’s features were indelibly engraved on her memory. And today she was leaving him for ever.

  Last night had been a dream, an erotic fantasy from her over-stimulated imagination, wish-fulfilment. This cold grey dawn was the only reality. And she had to get up and face it with all the pride she could summon, becau
se it was only pride which was going to get her through the day ahead.

  So she got up and showered every inch of herself, washing hair still lank with sweat, consciously cleaning herself of every trace of the night. Then she dressed, pulling on jeans and a jersey the exact colour of her eyes darkened now to a bruised blue, dried her hair and tied it back from her face in a ponytail. The hairstyle emphasised the clear, strong lines of her face, making her look more severe yet, paradoxically, younger. Normally she wore nothing more than moisturiser in the day, but this morning she made up carefully, using a coloured base to hide her lack of colour, a rosy lipstick to disguise lips reddened from kisses which had been too deep.

  It was after eight when she finally came out; she stood a moment in the doorway, looking hesitantly back at her bedroom, its vivid atmosphere like a refuge. Then she set off down towards the small room off the kitchen where breakfast and often lunch were eaten.

  Mrs Beringer was there drinking tea as she read yesterday’s paper. When Arminel entered she looked up, her expression coolly pleasant.

  They exchanged greetings. Arminel sat down, fighting down nausea at the thought of food, and began on her usual breakfast, grapefruit and toast and coffee. Outside the day had cleared; the sky was a brilliant tender blue and all about were the sounds of Te Nawe, the faint purr of an engine, sheep crying, a dog barking hysterically, the comfortable clatter in the kitchen as Judy Caird moved about. A blackbird sang sweetly and loudly from the orchard and somewhere a tractor started up to the accompaniment of a shouted command.

  Arminel fought back a surge of grief. After today this would all be in the country of the past. And she would never cease to regret being banished from it.

  ‘Had you any plans for today?’ Mrs Beringer asked politely.

  Arminel shook her head. After a moment her throat loosened enough for her to say, ‘No, none, except that I must confirm my ticket back home.’

  ‘I see.’ Not a sign of triumph in the cultured voice, yet it was there, as clear as if she had shouted it to the sky. ‘When are you thinking of going back?’

  ‘Oh, fairly soon.’ Well, it had to be done. Buttering a piece of toast, she said quietly, ‘I thought I might leave today, as a matter of fact. I’ve loved being here, but I’d like to see a little more of New Zealand before I go home.’

  Mrs Beringer could afford to be generous now. ‘Yes, we have a lot to offer the tourist. Where are you thinking of going next? The South Island is lovely at this time of year, although of course it’s seen at its best in winter when the snow is down.’

  ‘I thought I’d go to Rotorua and have a look at the thermal area.’

  ‘Yes, you must. It’s unique and fascinating, once you get used to the smell of sulphur.’

  Arminel smiled politely. She had no intention of going any further than Auckland and then she’d catch the next plane home to lick her wounds in solitude.

  At the sudden opening of the door both women looked up. Kyle came in, his cold grey eyes passing from his mother’s face to Arminel’s with no discernible change of expression.

  ‘I’ve just had a call from Auckland,’ he said without preamble, addressing his mother. ‘I have to go down to see Arthur Jolley—something’s come up about the Gisborne place. I’ll leave after lunch.’

  ‘Oh, then you can give Arminel a lift,’ Mrs Beringer said pleasantly. ‘She was just saying that she thought she’d spent enough time here.’

  ‘Indeed?’

  Arminel’s spine crawled at the mocking derision in the gaze that searched her face. ‘Yes,’ she said in a remote little voice, spreading marmalade on to her toast.

  ‘Then feel free to accompany me.’ He smiled. ‘I like company.’

  He was a ruthless, calculating devil and he was twisting the screw even harder, revenging himself for the sensual snare he had been caught in.

  So although her heart and brain ached in unison she looked at him with polite detachment, the soft, passionate mouth tight above the delicate lift of her chin. ‘Thank you. When do you plan to leave?’

  ‘Straight after lunch. Can you be ready by then?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The shrewd grey eyes bored into the pretty mask of her face. He sensed her complete withdrawal and it angered him. But he hid it and turned to his mother.

  ‘Where’s Rhys?’

  She looked up at him, her expression ingenuous. ‘He decided to go to the village. You said last night that you wanted some parts for the pump. Davina has gone with him.’ She paused before finishing, ‘I think they intend calling in on Mary and Peter Goldstone. They’ll probably stay for lunch.’

  ‘I see.’ His gaze swung to Arminel’s face once more, met and locked with hers. A bitter, savage, triumph blazed deep in his eyes, then was extinguished as suddenly as it had come. ‘Right, make it one o’clock,’ he said as he turned towards the door.

  So that was that. As she packed Arminel pushed all her anguish away from her, concentrating with fierce desperation on the job in hand. Only a few more hours and she would never see him again. Yesterday—even this morning—the thought had been as painful as a blow to the heart. Now she welcomed it. The future beckoned like a haven. Without the constant cruel torment of Kyle’s presence she would pick up the pieces of her life and make something of it. And never again would she lay herself open to such humiliation and hurt. Nothing, not even the delirious physical enchantment of last night, was worth it. If he had despised her before he now felt a darker, stronger emotion for her, something that forced him to taunt her as cruelly as he knew how. And because he was Kyle, with a quick, incisive brain, he knew exactly how to shaft the arrows of his words.

  Oh yes, she would be glad to see him walk away from her.

  By mid-morning she was ready. It took her half an hour to write a note to Rhys. She would post it in Auckland; if she left it here she would be surprised if it reached its destination.

  She smiled a cynical little smile, thinking that only a few weeks ago she would have been horrified at the thought of well-bred, well-to-do people like the Beringers stooping so low as to filch a letter. Well, she had grown up a lot since then. And until she saw the last of Kyle she would behave with a self-possession that was rooted in the depths of her disillusionment.

  After that she went for a walk outside, visited Tessa and gave her an apple, patting the velvet muzzle as the little mare pressed her head against Arminel’s. For a moment tears blinded her; she wiped them away with an angry hand and made her way down through the gardens, quickening towards summer now, drowsy in the soft air. Beneath them the land swooped gracefully down to the sea, no longer cold under a cold sky as it had been on her arrival. Now the water glimmered and beckoned and shone. In the summer, Rhys had told her, they had parties down on the beach, parties which lasted from lunchtime until after midnight. They swam and walked and sang, made love and cooked their food over coals from a bonfire, watching as the long breakers curled on to the beach and the fish in them were silhouetted momentarily against the hard pale summer sky.

  Well, waiting for her were waters warmer than these would ever be, and a life she had found pleasant. It would be pleasant again, she promised herself. In time Kyle’s ominous shadow over her happiness would diminish and this, too, would become a memory, painful, always tender to the touch, but no longer a part of every waking moment and every sleeping dream.

  Resolution firmed her mouth. She turned and made her way back to the house to help Judy with the lunch.

  It was a meal fraught with tension. Kyle was abstracted, eating quickly without appearing to taste his food. It was left to his mother to put some sort of social gloss over the situation. She managed it very well, all things considered. Arminel, for once the recipient of her hostess’s conversation, responded in kind, giving polite meaningless answers to polite meaningless remarks.

  When she said goodbye to Judy Caird a note of real emotion crept into her voice as she thanked her. Judy’s look was shrewd, but she smiled and wished her a
pleasant holiday in the rest of New Zealand.

  An impatient toot from the horn of the car put an end to this. Mercifully Kyle’s impatience to be gone kept farewells short. Mrs Beringer was gracious, Arminel smooth, and within a minute or so the big car slid quietly down the drive towards the cattle-stop. Arminel stared ahead, eyes blind, her whole mind filled with the image of the man whose strong hands manoeuvred the car so skilfully around the sharp, deeply gravelled corners.

  Now, when she was leaving, she accepted the fact that what she felt for him was not a frenzied desire. Somehow she had fallen in love with him. Leaning her head back on to the seat, she wondered bleakly why it should be Kyle, hard and cruel and contemptuous, who had stolen her heart from her. Rhys was much easier to love—but no, her wayward heart had chosen his brother.

  Partly because of his strength, that granite character which called to a like strength in her. She needed a strong man to love. Rhys had never evoked the response which flamed so swiftly for Kyle. Basically Rhys was lightweight, with all the virtues of that, the laughter and fun, the easy rapport which had first attracted her, but he was incapable of reaching the heights, or the depths. In time he would get over his chagrin at being manipulated and marry Davina; they were ideally suited, and her open adoration was what he needed.

  Kyle was different. Dimly she realised that the antagonism which had flared between them at that first glance had been based on an intuitive need to protect themselves. Each had recognised in the other—what? The capacity to hurt, to maim so deeply that the resultant wounds would scar their souls. All of it, the incandescent attraction, the dark bonds of desire and shame and hunger with violence only a kiss—or a blow—away, their unwilling, desperate joy in each other’s presence, were parts of the dark chains that bonded them together.

  Love? It seemed as far removed from the kindly emotion she had once dreamed of as the stars from the pits of hell, yet he would never forget her. If there had been mainly depths in her relationship with Kyle at least they both had one ecstatic height to remember.