Hell Hath No Fury

by Rosie Harris

  ‘Can I have another glass of champagne!’

  He frowned. ‘Of course!’ He refilled her glass, but didn’t join her in a second drink.

  The silence between them was an uneasy one.

  ‘Now, what have you to tell me?’ He waited expectantly.

  Maureen sipped her champagne. ‘It was all a long time ago,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I’ve never spoken about it to anyone else, except my parents . . .’ She hesitated, wishing she’d kept silent, wondering if it was wise to say any more.

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘It happened when I was eighteen. The last day at school . . .’ She took another drink from her glass.

  The champagne sent a surge of euphoria through her, clearing her head, reviving long buried memories.

  She felt as if she was being transported back sixteen years. One of an excited crowd of teenagers all clamouring around the notice board in the hall at Benbury Secondary School trying to read their A-level results.

  She had been the only girl on the list. The other girls had all been bitterly disappointed. They began teasing her, deriding her achievement, calling her a ‘swot’. Boys who had failed, equally jealous of her achievement, had joined in.

  The boys whose names were listed alongside hers had insisted she went with them for a celebration drink.

  She’d never been in a pub before. They had downed pints of beer or lager, but they’d bought her a whisky and lemonade followed by a gin and tonic. Unused to drink of any kind, she had been legless by the time they left the pub.

  The boys were in high spirits. A few blocks up the road five of them had bundled her into a disused shed on the edge of some waste ground. At first they’d been content to force kisses upon her, but it didn’t stop at that. As they bantered and teased each other, they’d grown more and more aroused. Egging each other on, the lustful, drink-inflamed teenagers had raped her one after the other, leaving her bruised, battered and almost unconscious.

  ‘Since then, I’ve avoided men,’ she told Philip Harmer in a shaky voice as she finished her account of the incident. She gave a tremulous smile as she looked across at him.

  The look of horror on his thin face brought her sharply back to the present as though she’d been doused in cold water.

  ‘Are you telling me you were gang-banged?’ he asked incredulously.

  ‘That’s rather a crude way of putting it, but in essence I suppose that was what happened,’ she admitted hesitantly.

  He shuddered. ‘I don’t believe I’m hearing this!’

  She stiffened as she heard the revulsion in his voice. ‘It was a long time ago. And it certainly wasn’t my fault!’ she defended hotly.

  Philip Harmer avoided her eyes, but she was acutely aware that he was deeply disturbed by what she had told him.

  ‘Will you excuse me for a moment?’ Scraping back his chair he stood up and made for the toilets.

  Maureen shook her head like a boxer recovering from a well-aimed punch. She couldn’t believe that she had been so stupid. All these years she had never breathed a word to a living soul about what had taken place in that shed on her last day at school. And to blurt it out now! To Philip Harmer of all people! The one person she was most anxious to impress.

  The pain deep inside her was like a knife turning in her chest. She felt physically sick. Tears pricked behind her eyelids. She blinked them away, determined not to break down. That would be the final humiliation.

  She had almost regained her self-control by the time he returned to the table, but her head was spinning, and she suspected it was because she had drunk too much champagne.

  ‘Could I have a coffee?’ she asked muzzily.

  There was an uncomfortable silence while they waited for the waiter to bring it.

  ‘When are you planning . . .’ Maureen fumbled for the right words. She didn’t think ‘for us to get married’ were appropriate at the moment so she changed it to: ‘To leave on this visit to the Far East?’

  Philip Harmer frowned, his mouth pursed. ‘I’m not sure. I haven’t finalized the exact date of my trip yet.’

  ‘It will be quite soon?’

  ‘Oh yes!’ He gave a thin smile. ‘No point in delaying matters . . . no point at all.’

  She relaxed a little. Now the initial shock had passed it seemed he was taking her revelations in his stride.

  Her spirits lifted. That must mean that everything was going to be all right between them, and she had nothing to worry about after all. It had been something of a bombshell for him, but now she’d confessed he would be able to forget all about it, just as she had done all these years.

  TWO

  Maureen Flynn tried desperately to get to sleep. She tossed and turned, plumped up her pillows, buried her head under the bedclothes, all to no avail. No matter what she did she was unable to blot out from her mind the humiliation and despair she felt following her revelations to Philip Harmer.

  She still couldn’t believe she had taken such a risk with her own future. She must have been mad! It was like winning the Lottery and then screwing up the ticket instead of collecting the winnings.

  Would she ever be able to forget the look of distaste on his thin face when she’d told him that she had once been raped, or was it going to haunt her forever?

  To have guarded her shameful secret all these years and then to have blurted it out like she had done was unbelievable! And to Philip Harmer of all people!

  What could she have been thinking about? Such utter stupidity! It was bordering on a death wish. He was the first man who had ever penetrated the hard shell she’d built around her feelings. The only man she had ever met who appealed to her as a prospective partner.

  The only man who had ever proposed to her!

  It wasn’t like her to blab about her past. That was a closed book. She’d buried it deep in her subconscious many years ago. Something she’d been determined to forget for ever. Now it was all floating on the surface again.

  Her mind seethed with memories as the harrowing experience flooded back into focus. She was back there. In that dank, dirty shed with its cobwebs and dirt floor. She was being jostled by the boys, pushed and pawed, slobbered over.

  It had started with wet, beery kisses. First one, then another. Then they were all over her, scrabbling like pigs in a trough. Pushing their wet mouths against her throat and neck.

  She’d felt sick and frightened when they’d started pulling at her clothing. Ripping off her school blouse they grabbed at her breasts, squeezing, licking, sucking. When she’d cried out in pain one of them had stuffed a grubby handkerchief in her mouth. She’d kicked and fought, trying to get free, but the more she’d struggled the more frenzied they’d become. They’d behaved like vicious animals

  Sandy Franklin had been unspeakably cruel. Tall, raw-boned with a wild shock of red hair, and big, bony hands, he’d been the most callous of them all. He’d been the first one to rape her, goaded into doing so by taunts and jeers from Dennis Jackson.

  Jackson had been the oldest of the gang. Head boy. A natural leader. Brainy. Scheming. Sinister, with a vicious streak of cruelty in his make-up.

  He’d egged Sandy, and the others, into action. Ordered them to hold her down, to strip off the rest of her clothing. There’d been a gleam of enjoyment in his green eyes when she’d begged him to tell the others to stop.

  He could have put an end to them molesting her. They both knew that. One word from him and the others would have held back, but he chose not to. It was obvious from the look on his face that he was experiencing a vicarious thrill from what he was witnessing.

  He’d waited until last for his turn.

  Maureen felt herself breaking out into a cold sweat as she recalled the unspeakable indignities she’d suffered at his hands. Afterwards, along with the others, he’d taken to his heels. They’d left her lying there in the shed, sobbing.

  Bruised and shaken she’d stumbled home. Her parents were shocked and outraged when they heard what h
ad happened, but they told no one, not even the police. So great was their shame that they had refused to even call a doctor!

  Trembling and tearful, her mother had bathed her and tended to her cuts and bruises. Then she’d put her to bed with aspirins and hot milk, almost as if nothing untoward had happened.

  Next day, when her mother changed the dressings, she refused to discuss the matter. Her father had also ignored the incident, but he had insisted that she should remain indoors until the bruises on her face faded and the swellings subsided. There had been no treatment for the bruising inside her mind.

  If she tried to speak about it to her mother, her mother hushed her to silence, telling her it was best if she forgot all about what had happened. She felt too embarrassed even to try and talk to her father about such an incident. He was a formidable man, cynical, with a heart of flint. A dictator in his own home. Her mother not only waited on him hand and foot, but obeyed his every whim. He laid responsibility for what had happened on his wife, blaming her for not warning their daughter against having anything to do with boys.

  From then on he had ignored Maureen completely. It was as if by not speaking to her, and pretending she wasn’t there, he could forget the entire shameful incident.

  A hostile silence invaded their lives. Her mother looked careworn and haggard, her face deathly pale with dark smudges beneath her eyes as though she hadn’t slept for weeks.

  Maureen remembered how she had cried herself to sleep at night. She’d felt dirty, soiled. Although they had told no one, she felt that everyone she met knew about what had happened.

  Looking back, she realized her parents must have felt the same. Later that year they’d moved away from Benbury.

  Her mother had been right, though; time was a great healer. She couldn’t remember when she had finally stopped crying herself to sleep. It had probably been when she realized that no one else was aware of what had happened, or if they did know, they simply weren’t interested.

  The move had helped. Once there was no danger of meeting any of the boys who’d been involved in the debacle she’d been able to draw a veil over the experience and, in time, banish it into some deep recess of her mind.

  Attending Business School had been the start of an entirely different lifestyle. Nevertheless, she had become very reserved. No one was allowed to penetrate the protective shell she built around her feelings.

  Not until now!

  It had been a revelation when she first realized that in Philip Harmer she’d at last found a man she could respect and love. One whose mental talents paralleled her own, and whose aims and ambitions mirrored hers.

  Each passing day had brought a sense of astonishment. And tonight had seen the culmination of her most private fantasies. When he had asked her to marry him she had been too overwhelmed for words. It had been difficult not to throw herself into his arms with joy and relief.

  Her heart beat wildly as she relived his reaction to her confession. The moment she’d seen the horror on Philip’s face she’d wished she’d ignored his plea that she should tell him every detail about her life.

  She was sure the only time she’d felt so terrified had been on that harrowing night itself. A chill chased down her back as she remembered what a struggle it had been for him to come to terms with her revelations.

  Still unable to sleep, Maureen went to make herself a hot milky drink. By the time she returned to bed she was once more calm, and feeling confident about her future . . . their future together.

  She even managed to convince herself she was relieved that she had spoken out. Philip was right; it was better not to have any skeletons in the cupboard. Now, they both knew everything there was to know about each other.

  She snuggled down under the covers. It was sheer heaven to have a clear conscience at last, she thought as she drifted off to sleep.

  Fingers of light were parting the curtains when she woke. For a moment she lay there wondering why she felt so light-hearted, as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

  As the events of the previous evening came back to her she smiled contentedly, letting her thoughts linger on the new life that now lay ahead of her.

  She wondered how her parents would react when they heard she was to marry Professor Philip Harmer. Would they think he was a trifle old for her? Probably not. At their age they would consider someone in their early fifties merely middle-aged. And they would regard the fact that he was a professor of paramount importance.

  Doubtless, too, her mother would find comfort in knowing that at last she was settling down and would not be on her own when they were gone, but would have someone to care for her.

  Somebody to care for her!

  It would be wonderful to have another person to share her thoughts and experiences. They’d be able to go to the theatre and concerts together. And, of course, they’d travel. The working trip to the Far East, and to Hong Kong for their honeymoon, would be only the first of a great many exciting expeditions.

  Humming to herself, she took a shower, her mind still occupied with thoughts of the many changes marriage to Philip Harmer would bring.

  She’d be able to give up this place for a start, she thought with a sigh of relief. When she had first moved in to Windermere Mews, having a one bedroom flat all to herself had seemed like heaven. It was only when she began to work as a freelancer that she had realized how cramped it was. In next to no time, bookshelves, computer, printer, and filing cabinets dominated the living room, and even overflowed into the bedroom.

  Which was probably why she had become a workaholic, she thought wryly.

  She wondered what Philip’s flat in Portman Mansions was like. Even though they’d known each other for almost six months, they had never visited each other’s homes. Philip would have considered that to be improper.

  Flinging back her wardrobe doors she riffled through the clothes hanging there, pushing aside the sombre blacks and greys she usually wore and selecting a pale-blue wool dress that her mother had bought her one Christmas.

  From now on, she would pay more attention to what she wore, she resolved as she slipped it on.

  She was pleasantly startled by her reflection in the mirror. She looked so different. The dress softened and flattered, making her appear attractively slim. She was suddenly so eager for Philip to see her looking so good that she decided to phone him right away and suggest they meet for coffee. Afterwards they could go shopping for her engagement ring. He hadn’t mentioned buying one, and she was sure he hadn’t already done so because he was far too practical. He’d wait to make sure she accepted his proposal before taking such a step.

  She was pleased in a way. It would have been more romantic if he’d produced it last night, of course, but this way she would be able to choose exactly the sort of ring she wanted, rather than something he thought appropriate!

  She held up her left hand, splaying her fingers as if studying a ring on her third finger.

  It would have to be fairly unostentatious, though, she mused. He would hate her to wear anything flashy. A solitaire diamond? That would be safest. He’d approve of that.

  There was no reply when she dialled his number so she rang off. Often he didn’t answer the phone if he was working. She had tried to persuade him to install an answering machine, but he said that would be too distracting. Returning calls would waste valuable time. If people wanted him then they would ring back again.

  She pressed the recall button. An instant double ring was the signal that they’d agreed on when she’d first started working for him so that he would know it was her.

  She felt puzzled when there was still no reply. She couldn’t imagine where he might be so early in the morning. He never left the house before lunchtime. It was one of his strictest maxims.

  Perhaps he had gone to buy her a ring!

  She went back into the bedroom to collect her coat, bag and car keys. She’d drive round to his flat.

  When she reached her front door she stopped to pick up a le
tter lying on the doormat and felt a thrill of delight when she recognized his writing.

  Delivered by hand!

  So that was why there had been no answer when she’d phoned. A card, judging by its thickness. And so early in the day! Now that really did show how much he cared, she thought as she tore open the envelope.

  It wasn’t a card. It was a letter!

  As she unfolded the single sheet of thick notepaper something fluttered to the ground. When she picked it up, she was mystified to find it was a cheque. A cheque for £5,000!

  Colour rushed to her cheeks. Surely Philip didn’t expect her to go shopping for an engagement ring on her own?

  As she read the brief note that accompanied the cheque the colour drained from Maureen’s face. Her throat felt so constricted that she could barely breathe, and there was a violent pounding in her temples.

  Tight-jawed, trembling with humiliation, she read the note again. The words ‘fee for the work you’ve undertaken’, ‘special bonus’, and ‘termination of our contract’ branded themselves on to her mind.

  Her eyes blurred with tears, and that made her angrier still. As she brushed them away her rage turned to hatred.

  Hatred for Philip Harmer.

  She’d never forgive him for this. He had opened the door to a future that offered the culmination of her private dreams and fantasies, only to slam it in her face!

  To reject her love, to spurn her, after she’d accepted his proposal of marriage, was unbelievable!

  And all because she had done as he had asked her to do and bared her soul to him. By confessing that she had once been raped, she had forfeited his respect.

  She shuddered. Why had she been so honest? She should have said nothing. It had taken such a tremendous effort to come to terms with what had happened that she should have left the memory buried deep in her subconscious, as it had been all these years.

  Seething with rage and frustration she picked up the phone again. This time she let it ring. She wouldn’t use their special code. She didn’t want him to know it was her.

  There was still no reply, and slowly it dawned on her that there never would be.