by Sara Craven
Apart from a languid game of golf, swimming was Debra’s only real exercise, and she kept the pool well heated.
. As Lydie switched on the lamp at the door, she could see the gentle steam rising from the water.
The party had obviously extended into here, as it usually did. The loungers and wrought-iron tables and chairs around the edge were draped with damp and discarded towels. There was even a bucket containing the last remnants of some melting ice and a half-empty bottle of white wine.
At more optimistic moments she would have said it was half-full, Lydie thought wryly, finding an unused glass.
The wine was cold and dry, caressing her parched throat as she sipped it. The condemned woman drank a hearty breakfast, she thought with irony.
She put the glass back on the table, and dropped her robe to the floor. Still in her black silk teddy, she walked to the side of the pool and dived in with hardly a splash.
This was her usual panacea. She’d spent hours down here in the pool when the rest of the house was asleep. There was something about the movement of the water against her body which soothed her, driving the demons away.
A few lengths, and she’d be able to go back to her room and sleep. ‘Perchance to dream’... ?
No, she thought as she turned at the end of the pool and began to swim back. No dreams. Not tonight. She didn’t want her rest tormented by any of those wantonly erotic images which left her stranded in a wilderness of aching frustration. And which always began in the same way—with the heavy, rich scent of lilies...
She turned onto her back and floated for a while, staring up into the darkness beyond the elaborate glass dome, her hair a pale cloud around her on the water.
She felt like a mermaid, some doomed half-woman of the deep, endlessly singing her siren songs to call a lover who didn’t answer.
Who hadn’t answered for five long years.
Then, suddenly, ‘What the devil... ?’ It was Marius’s voice, harsh with anger. The main lights in the pool-house came on, dazzling her. She cried out. Her body jackknifed in shock, and for a moment she floundered, choking on the water she’d swallowed.
Dimly, she heard a splash, then he was beside her. ‘It’s all right. I’ve got you.’
Like hell he had. She kicked herself free and swam to the edge, resting an arm on the smooth turquoise tiles while she recovered her breath.
He joined her. ‘Are you out of your mind?’ he demanded hoarsely.
‘Are you?’ she countered. His dinner jacket was lying on the side where he’d dropped it. His black tie was floating on the water, and his elegant ruffled shirt was plastered against his body. He hadn’t been to bed either, she thought. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I took one of the guests home.’ Marius pushed his wet hair out of his eyes. ‘When I got back, I saw the light in here. I thought it had been left on by mistake. I came to the door, and I saw you in the water—not moving—your hair...’
One of the guests, she thought. She wasn’t going to ask if it was Nadine. She didn’t want to know.
She said coolly, ‘I’m sorry if I startled you—’
‘That’s putting it mildly,’ he cut in savagely.
‘And naturally I’ll pay for your dress suit to be cleaned,’ she went on, raising her voice a notch. ‘But your rescue attempt was quite unnecessary. I’m an excellent swimmer.’
‘Do you make a habit of this? Coming down here alone at all hours?’
Lydie hunched a shoulder defensively. ‘It’s a free country.’
‘But there are basic rules to be obeyed, nonetheless,’ he said curtly. ‘And you never swim, even in a pool this size, without someone knowing. It’s much too easy to get into difficulties, especially when you’ve been drinking.’ He threw a grim look at the wine bottle and glass. ‘You drowning in the pool could be one sensation too many for this household,’ he added pointedly.
Lydie groaned. ‘Oh, God; was it terrible after I left?’
‘I’ve known better moments.’ Marius pulled himself out of the water and walked towards the changing cabin, unbuttoning his shirt. ‘Your flight, by the way, was put down to pathological shyness triggering an incredibly early attack of bridal nerves.’
‘That’s ridiculous.’
‘Well, there had to be some explanation.’ Stripped down to black briefs, Marius began to towel himself vigorously. Wherever he’d been in the past years, there’d been no shortage of sun, she thought, her breath catching. He had a magnificent tan, his body as firm and muscular as ever... ‘So let’s hear yours.’
‘I don’t think I have one,’ Lydie said, after a pause. He stopped, his brows lifting. ‘You mean you just set that poor sod up then did a runner for the hell of it?’
‘No, of course not.’ She bit her lip.
‘What, then?’ The grey eyes were very cold and steady.
Because of you, she thought. You seduced me then walked away, without a word or a backward glance, leaving me with the knowledge that I hadn’t been the only one. Without my being sure whether or not you had another illegitimate child on the way. And the reality of that’s been crucifying me for five endless years.
And yet tonight, when I had the chance to put it behind me, all you had to do was look at me and I was lost. Nothing else mattered, least of all my sense of decency.
She shrugged again, the strap of her teddy sliding down from her shoulder. ‘I simply realised I couldn’t go through with it after all. Quite inexcusable, but a fact.’ Her voice sounded clipped, brittle. ‘I—I didn’t bargain for it all being quite so public.’ She swallowed. ‘I expect everyone’s disgusted with me. My—my mother will be so angry...’
‘She was,’ he returned dispassionately. ‘But she calmed down considerably when my uncle pointed out that she was partly to blame for turning the whole thing into a three-ring circus.’
‘Oh.’ Lydie pushed herself away from the side and swam in a wide circle. ‘He’s very kind.’
‘With a keen sense of justice.’ Marius draped the towel he’d been using over a chair and shrugged on the robe he’d brought from the cabin. ‘At least, what he sees to be justice.’ His sudden smile was wintry. He picked up Lydie’s own robe from the floor and held it out. ‘It’s time we called it a night.’
She grasped the handrail, pulling herself out of the water in one lithe movement, shivering as the chill of the air reached her.
She saw his eyes widen, and the sudden flare of colour along the high cheekbones as he looked at her. And she realised what he was seeing.
The soaked teddy was clinging to her, outlining her rounded breasts and the delicate nipples, hardened to prominence by cold and sudden excitement. The black silk hugged the flat plane of her stomach and the small hollow of her navel, and gave delicious emphasis to the gentle mound at the joining of her thighs.
She thought, I might as well be naked. And remembered his face—that first time—hunger mingled with a kind of reverence as he’d bent to kiss away the last remnants of shyness, warming her, bringing her to glowing, acquiescent life. To undreamed-of passion.
Now his face was a stranger’s, the lines of his jaw taut, his mouth compressed. He looked older, tired, suddenly bitter.
She wanted to take his head between her hands and draw it to her breasts. To kiss his mouth, and eyes, and make him smile again. To make him, once more, the Marius who had loved her throughout that one unforgettable night with such completeness.
And then left her.
The thought jarred in her mind like a blow. That was what she mustn’t forget. Not the loving, but the loneliness and bewilderment which had followed. The sense of utter betrayal. And all the unanswered questions about his departure that she still dared not ask this—stranger.
However much she might want to ask. However much, she thought with a shiver, she might want him. As she could no longer deny.
‘Marius...’ His name trembled into the silence between them, aching with bewilderment—with need. The tension, the
longing was almost tangible, she realised, and surely mutual as well. Now—now he must reach for her...
She took one small, uncertain step towards him. And saw his mouth twist in sudden mockery, his eyes flicking over her body in a sexual appraisal that was almost an insult.
He said softly, ‘All in good time, beauty.’ He threw the robe to her. ‘Now cover yourself.’ His voice seemed to reach her from a vast distance.
She huddled the robe on, fumbling with the sash, feeling the hot colour swamp her face.
She dredged up enough pride to say, ‘Goodnight,’ and turned to go.
‘Goodnight.’ His voice was cool, almost expressionless. ‘And don’t swim down here alone at night again. It isn’t safe.’
She nodded, and went without looking back.
She thought, Nothing’s safe now—nor ever will be again.
Sleep was still impossible. The room was like an oven, the mattress like a bed of nails. Lydie sat on the window-seat, drying her damp hair slowly and watching the sky for the first faint streaks of morning light.
She was shaken—appalled to realise that she’d allowed Marius a second opportunity to reject her. Oh, he’d wanted her, as his behaviour at the party had made clear, she thought bitterly. But he hadn’t wanted her enough. The scornful indifference in his grey eyes made her tingle with shame in retrospect.
But then, she thought carefully, he’d never wanted her enough. Otherwise he wouldn’t have left her. Would never have walked away.
Not that it should be allowed to matter any more. She had to sort herself out. What had happened to all her good intentions? she wondered wearily. She was like some human lemming, hell-bent on self-destruction.
And yet once, for a short while, she’d been so completely happy.
She couldn’t remember exactly when she’d begun to love Marius. It had happened slowly, naturally over the years, like a rose taking root and putting out the first tender buds.
He’d taught her to ride, taken her walking over the high moors, talked to her—and listened in turn. In fact, he was the first person ever to be interested in her as a person. Heady stuff, she thought wryly.
And then, one day, as she’d hovered on the threshold between adolescence and womanhood, she’d looked at him and seen him for the dynamic, attractive male being he undoubtedly was.
She could even recall the exact moment. She’d been playing tennis and had cycled back to Greystones. Marius had been occupying a sun-lounger on the front lawn, wearing just a pair of ancient white shorts, and his skin had gleamed like bronze, his thick brown hair gilded at the ends by the sun.
Nadine Winton had been beside him. Lydie could remember dismounting from her bike with the intention of joining them. But she’d paused, sheltered by the tall shrubs which lined the drive, as Nadine had leaned across and kissed Marius on the mouth. Lydie had seen her hand with its scarlet-tipped nails tracing patterns on the hair-roughened skin of his chest, then sliding down deliberately over his abdomen—like some pale, exotic snake, Lydie had thought from where she stood.
She’d felt hot with sudden embarrassment, yet cold as ice at the same time. She’d wanted to run away, but she’d been rooted to the spot, a strange, shamed warmth uncurling in the pit of her stomach. She’d seen Nadine’s other hand lift to unhook her bikini top and let it fall away.
Lydie left her bike where it was and crept indoors and upstairs. She’d taken a long shower, letting the water cascade over her. Then, wrapped in a towel, she’d come back into her room.
There was a long mirror on the wall, and she let the towel drop to the floor and for the first time in her life scrutinised her naked body as something more than the frame she fed and hung clothes on. For once she tried to appraise herself as the object of a man’s desire, the centre of his pleasure.
But not just any man. It was Marius whom she wanted to see her like this, as she twisted and turned, running tentative hands over her blossoming breasts, her slender flanks, and the slight concavity of her belly. It was Marius she wanted to kiss her and to touch her. To do to her the secret things that instinct told her he and Nadine were engaged in at that moment, their loungers deserted now in the drowsy heat.
The realisation made her gasp, her arms wrapping in self-protection across her body as pain consumed her.
In the past, Marius’s girlfriends had been a source of half-tolerant, half-scornful amusement. Now everything had changed and they were bitter rivals.
And she knew, with a kind of sadness, that her relationship with Marius had changed for ever too. That the old ease and trust would be replaced by something else—something altogether less comfortable, which might bring either reward or heartbreak in its wake.
And she thought, I’ll make him want me. I’ll make him love me.
Almost at once, she began to distance herself from him in all kinds of tiny ways, divorcing herself from the old camaraderie, forcing him to be aware of her in a totally different fashion, but careful not to overdo it. ‘One charmer... is quite enough’: his words which she’d never forgotten.
One evening after dinner, they were all in the drawing room listening to music. It was Rachmaninov—sweeping, romantic and poignant—and she was sitting on the rug in front of the fireplace, lost in her own private world of fantasy and longing, unaware when the compact disc reached its end.
‘And where were you, then?’ Austin asked her jovially. He looked round with a grin. ‘I think the lass must be in love.’
He teased her broadly about the unknown boyfriend, Jon joining in, building up a ludicrous picture of a cross between Rupert Brooke, whose poems she’d been studying at school, and Arnold Schwarzenegger. And in the middle of all the hilarity she saw Marius looking at her, mouth set and brows drawn together, as if he’d been totally arrested by some new and not completely welcome possibility.
From then on they shared a strange new awareness of each other. On the surface everything appeared to be the same, but Marius was careful, she noticed, never to be alone with her, as if some fragile truce existed between them that the intimacy of a private word or a look could shatter.
As if they were both waiting for some special moment, she mused now, as she sat anticipating the first light of dawn irradiating the eastern sky.
Waiting, she thought, for her to grow up. To come of age in years as well as mind and body.
It had been Christmas and she had just turned seventeen when everything changed irrevocably. There’d been a party at Greystones for some of Austin’s friends, and Debra had insisted that Lydie attend to hand round food and behave like the daughter of the house.
Marius had had other parties to go to, and, to Debra’s fury, he’d taken Jon with him. Austin had shrugged at her complaints.
‘They’re young men—bachelors,’ he told her with a touch of impatience. ‘Naturally they’ll be in demand. You’ve got the lass tied to your apron strings. Be content with that, my dear.’
They came back around midnight. Lydie was just going through the hall to tell Mrs Arnthwaite to serve the mulled wine when the front door opened on an icy shaft of wind and Jon came in laughing uproariously, with Marius just behind him.
‘Look at this.’ Jon pointed to a few melting flakes of white adhering to his coat. ‘It’s going to be a white Christmas.’ He picked Lydie up and swung her round, then abandoned her, making for the drawing room and the buzz of laughter and conversation.
Marius took off his overcoat and dropped it onto the big carved settle. He looked at Lydie, then glanced upwards, an odd smile twisting his mouth. Lydie followed the direction of his gaze and saw that Jon had put her down under the big mistletoe garland hanging from the ceiling.
A feeling rather like panic gripped her throat. Maybe she should move away. Maybe...
Marius reached her. His hands took her shoulders, drawing her towards him very gently. He said softly, ‘Merry Christmas,’ and bent his head to kiss her on the mouth.
The touch of his lips on hers lit a small, wild
flame inside her. She kissed him back, all the feelings she’d repressed for so long feeding the innocent fire of her lips, turning it to a sudden conflagration.
She heard Marius groan in his throat. His hands tightened on her, pulling her against him. She felt the slam of his heart through the wool shirt, and the stroke of his fingers exploring the slender length of her spine.
Her mouth parted under the pressure of his, willingly, eagerly. His tongue was heated satin against hers as she responded almost mindlessly to the deepening demand of his kiss.
They were clinging together, bodies locked and straining, oblivious to everything but the moment, drinking—breathing each other.
Debra’s acid ‘What in the world is going on?’ brought them plummeting back to reality.
She was standing in the drawing-room doorway, her face like ice.
She said, ‘May I remind you, Lydie, that we have guests? And that you’re rather young to be receiving drunken advances, even with Christmas as an excuse?’
Marius half turned towards her, his arm still clamped round Lydie. He said, too quietly, ‘I’m not drunk. Nor do I need an excuse.’
Their glances met in challenge, and it was Debra who turned away first. She said coldly, ‘Lydie, I sent you on an errand,’ then went back into the drawing room and closed the door.
‘You’d better do as she tells you,’ Marius muttered ruefully. He paused. ‘At least for the time being.’
His hand stroked her cheek and she turned her head, almost blindly, consumed by joy at the promise she heard—or seemed to hear—in his words, pressing her lips to his fingers in a fleeting caress.
Then, suddenly shy, she disengaged herself and ran off to tell Mrs Arnthwaite about the mulled wine.
She didn’t go back to the drawing room immediately. She let herself out by the side-door into the garden.
The snow was falling quite heavily, the tiny flakes whirling in the floodlights which illumined the house, covering the shrubbery and lawns with a frosting of magic.