A Trial Marriage

by Anne Mather

  The distance to the lift stretched before her like the Gobi desert, but at last she was within the enclosing portals of the small cubicle which would lift her to the comparative safety of her own room. The last thing she saw as the doors closed was Jake standing where she had left him, staring after her, a curiously vulnerable expression on his lean features, and the tears overspilled her eyes.

  Fortunately Della was downstairs, taking tea, and only Minstrel was there to share her misery. He was remarkably understanding for once, sensing her unhappiness and nuzzling against her comfortingly.

  She managed to make some excuse to Della not to join her for dinner that evening, and had a sandwich brought up to her room. Exercising Minstrel was another matter, but although she looked about her nervously as she crossed the lobby with the poodle, there was no sign of the man who had accosted her earlier. Carl Yates was at the reception desk when she returned, however, and while she wished she could avoid him his undoubted admiration was a salve to her bruised spirit.

  ‘Mrs Faulkner-Stewart has got all her arrangements made for tomorrow evening,’ he told her casually, after making the excuse of fondling the animal to hinder her progress. ‘That means you’ll be free for the evening, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I expect so,’ Rachel answered cautiously, disentangling the poodle’s lead from around her jean-clad legs. ‘Stand still, Minstrel!’

  Carl straightened. ‘I wondered if you’d come out with me,’ he murmured, low enough so the girl at the reception desk could not hear him. ‘How about it?’

  Rachel shook her head. ‘I—well, I don’t go out much,’ she said awkwardly.

  ‘Perhaps you should,’ he suggested, his usual assurance daunted. ‘You need a change.’

  Rachel made an apologetic gesture. ‘I’m sorry. I—I’m not sure what Mrs Faulkner-Stewart will want me to do.’

  ‘Then let me know,’ remarked Carl at once, seizing on her indecision. ‘We could go to a club I know. Have a meal … dance. There’s no need to make a booking at this time of the year.’

  Rachel wanted to refuse, but something stopped her, and with a half-reassuring smile she left him, walking away towards the lift without giving him chance to say anything more.

  Della was waiting for her next morning when she entered the suite to take Minstrel for his pre-breakfast gallop along the beach. It was unusual for the older woman to be up and dressed so spontaneously, but the reason for her eagerness was soon made apparent.

  ‘About tonight’s dinner party——’ she began, and Rachel resigned herself for a long monologue. ‘There’ll be eight of us in all. The Colonel, of course, and Mr and Mrs Strange. Then, there’s Miss Hardy and Mrs King …’

  Rachel tucked her trembling hands into the pockets of her jeans. She scarcely knew the Stranges, who were the second half of the bridge four. An elderly couple, they always seemed engrossed in their game, and paid little attention to anyone who didn’t play. But the names of the two women who had seen her with Jake still had the power to send a shiver of apprehension down her spine. Nevertheless, it was Della’s next words which caused her the most distress:

  ‘And finally myself … and Mr Allan! Yes,’ this as Rachel’s lips parted involuntarily, ‘he’s agreed to join us. Isn’t that wonderful? I expect we’ll have a bridge tournament later, now that we have eight players.’

  Rachel turned away, pretending to search for Minstrel’s lead, anything to conceal her tormented expression from Della’s probing gaze. How could he, she thought despairingly, how could he? And why now? When in the past he had avoided contact with anyone?

  ‘Well?’ Della expected some response. ‘Haven’t you anything to say? Like—congratulations, for example?’

  ‘Congratulations?’ Rachel echoed blankly, schooling her features. ‘I’m afraid I——’

  ‘You know what a recluse Mr Allan has been,’ exclaimed Della irritably. ‘Don’t you think it’s significant that he’s agreed to join my dinner party?’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Rachel strove for control. ‘I—well, yes. You—you’ve been very fortunate.’

  ‘That’s what Miss Hardy said,’ remarked Della, frowning. ‘Although I wouldn’t have put it exactly like that myself. After all, it’s obvious he’s a man of the world, well used to the society I can offer. It’s natural that as two—sophisticates—in what is without question an unsophisticated gathering, we should have certain things in common.’

  Rachel grasped Minstrel’s lead like a lifeline. ‘You—you could be right,’ she managed tightly. ‘I gather you won’t be—needing me this evening.’

  ‘No. No.’ Della could afford to be expansive. ‘You go ahead and do whatever you want to do, my dear.’ She paused. ‘I’ll want you to do my hair beforehand, of course, but after that …’

  Rachel nodded. ‘All right. Now, shall I take Minstrel for his walk?’

  Della looked as if she would have liked to say more. She was probably put out by a lack of interest on her part, thought Rachel wearily, but she couldn’t pretend an enthusiasm she didn’t feel. Her whole being throbbed with indignation at this deliberate attempt on Jake’s part to show her the differences between them, not only physically but socially, and she despised herself for still feeling the pain of his betrayal. It was like he had said. They were worlds apart, and no doubt Della would be willing to satisfy him with far more success than she had had.

  She half hoped she would see Jake as she took Minstrel out of the hotel, but of course she didn’t. The only person she encountered was Carl Yates, and on impulse she did something she would never have done otherwise. She deliberately attracted his attention, and when he came to join her she said:

  ‘Is your offer still open for this evening, Mr Yates?’

  ‘Carl,’ he averred. Then: ‘You know it is.’

  ‘Good.’ Rachel’s lips found smiling a difficult task. ‘What time shall we leave?’

  Carl inclined his head towards her. ‘Seven? Seven-thirty?’

  ‘We’d better make it seven-thirty,’ she said, remembering Della’s hair. ‘I’ll meet you here, shall I?’

  Carl nodded. ‘I’ll look forward to it.’

  Rachel kept her smile in place, and strolled away, with what she hoped was casual assurance, towards the doors, but once outside the cold air against her hot face brought a flush of anxiety to her cheeks. She hoped Carl wouldn’t think she was forward. She had never done anything like this before. Somehow, since meeting Jake Allan, she had done a lot of things she had never done before.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  DELLA dressed with extra care for her dinner party. Her gown of oyster pink chiffon floated about her plump figure with a flattering lack of definition, and the jewels that surrounded her neck, and hung with such vulgarity from her ears and fingers, denoted a richness seldom seen at the Tor Court. Her coiffure must be right, too, and Rachel’s fingers were aching by the time she had twisted and coaxed Della’s coarse hair into a becoming style.

  ‘You really are getting rather good,’ Della complimented her grudgingly when she had finished, turning her head this way and that to view the style from all angles.

  Rachel put the brushes and combs away. ‘Is that all?’ she asked, and Della turned toward her curiously.

  ‘What are you planning on doing this evening? Dining alone in the restaurant, or having something sent up here?’

  Rachel shook her head. ‘Neither. Actually, I’ve promised to have dinner with Mr—with Carl Yates,’ she stated defiantly, waiting for the reproaches she was sure were to come, but for once Della was disposed to be generous.

  ‘I’m glad,’ she said, putting tissues into her evening purse. ‘I don’t like to think of you spending a lonely evening.’

  Rachel thought, rather ungraciously perhaps, that Della had never before concerned herself with how many lonely evenings her companion spent, but obviously her success with Jake Allan had gone to her head. Now she was glad just to escape to her own room and take a hurried shower, refusing to admit, e
ven to herself, that she regretted her defiant impulse to accept Carl’s invitation.

  She seldom wore pants in the evenings, but she wore them tonight. Black velvet pants, that teamed with a matching waistcoat, over a frilled white organdie blouse. The sleeves of the blouse were full, and she looked, she thought, like some medieval pageboy. Then she turned sideways, and the provocative swell of her breasts and the curving line of her hips dispelled the illusion.

  She hadn’t an evening coat, but her midi-length suede would do. Carl obviously thought so when he saw her coming out of the lift, and his enthusiasm made up a little for her disappointment in not encountering Jake. She had half expected to see him in the adjoining lounge where Della and her cronies were sharing pre-dinner cocktails, but as yet he had not joined them.

  Carl drove a Ford Capri, a sleek-backed car with trim red lines edged with black. It was a sporty-looking vehicle without being too expensive to run, he told her, obviously proud of its brisk turn of speed.

  The club he took her to was in the basement of a building at the back of the town, high above the illuminated waterfront. An old cellar had been renovated without stealing any of its atmosphere, and the music which was provided by a four-piece group on a raised section of the stone floor, echoed hollowly between stone walls and wooden pillars. The dancing was all modern stuff, requiring little in the way of space, which was just as well in the circumstances.

  They sat at a wooden table, spread with a checked cloth, and ate seafood and salad, washed down by cheap white wine. The place wasn’t full by any means, but there were a number of other young people present, several of whom knew Carl, and came over to be introduced to his companion.

  After an initially shaky start Rachel began to enjoy herself, finding a certain amount of release in the dancing, letting the rhythmic beat of the drums seduce her into a state of near-amnesia. She danced with other boys as well as Carl, and her success helped to drown the unwilling images of Jake talking to Della, holding her hand, touching her lips … A mental block came down when she tried to go any further, and it wasn’t just because she had never experienced anything more herself.

  ‘I mustn’t be too late,’ she told Carl, as the clock crept round to half past ten. ‘Della’s arranged for one of the porters to let Minstrel out for a while, but she’ll expect me to make sure he doesn’t get into mischief.’

  ‘Who?’ inquired Carl wryly. ‘The dog—or the porter?’

  Rachel smiled. ‘Minstrel, of course.’

  ‘Don’t you get sick of running after a woman like her?’ he probed, but Rachel knew better than to discuss her employer with a man who was still practically a stranger to her.

  ‘Della’s been very good to me,’ she told him quietly, and Carl was discreet enough to know that he was wasting his time making those kind of comments.

  ‘Even so,’ he persisted, ‘you don’t get a lot of free time, do you? I mean, it’s a seven-days-a-week job really, isn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ replied Rachel firmly, and he gave up asking questions.

  In spite of her good intentions, it was after eleven-thirty before Rachel got back to the hotel. Some friends of Carl’s arrived at the last minute, and they had insisted buying him a drink, although Rachel refused anything but fruit juice. She had had a couple of Martinis in the course of the evening, and she was determined not to add an aching head to her other problems.

  She left Carl in the lobby, unutterably relieved when the night porter approached him with a message, thus preventing prolonged goodnights at her door. She thanked him politely for taking her, and because of the situation, Carl was obliged to let her go. But she realised she had been extremely fortunate in avoiding payment for his attentions.

  Nevertheless, as the lift rode upward, all her other anxieties came back into focus, and she wondered whether she had been so clever, after all. What was the point of caring about a man who had made it blatantly obvious that to him she was nothing but a child?

  As she came out of the lift, she wondered whether she ought to check din Minstrel, but then stifled the thought. It was late. No doubt Della would be in bed by now, and going into the suite might disturb her. If he had made a nuisance of himself, she would learn about it soon enough, and there was little she could do at this time of night.

  She passed Della’s door and went to her own, inserting her key in the lock, and letting herself into the darkened room. Her hand groped for the light switch, but before she could turn it on another lamp was illuminated beside the bed, and she gasped with momentary fear. Then she saw Jake, seated on the side of her bed apparently waiting for her, and the gasp died in her throat.

  Taking advantage of her stunned amazement, he got to his feet and came over to the door, closing it firmly behind her and remaining there beside it while she caught her breath.

  ‘You’ve been out with Carl Yates,’ he said quietly, his tone revealing a subdued anger. ‘Where?’

  Rachel gathered her composure. ‘What’s it to you?’ she countered jerkily. ‘Did you enjoy the dinner party?’

  ‘I asked you a question first,’ he retorted, a certain coldness surfacing. ‘Why did you go out with Yates? The other evening you couldn’t wait to get away from him.’

  Rachel moved away from the door and likewise from him. ‘I don’t have to answer your questions,’ she declared tautly. ‘I don’t know how you got into my room——’

  ‘With a key!’ he interspersed.

  ‘—but I wish you would leave.’

  ‘Do you?’ He came away from the door, tall and darkly malevolent in a wine-coloured velvet dinner jacket. ‘Why? Because you want time to lie and dream about your boyfriend? Because you now see me for what I am?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ She swung round then, staring at his haggard features with troubled eyes. He looked so strained, she thought anxiously, aware of emotions she was trying desperately to suppress. ‘You—you’re the one who made the rules.’

  ‘Rules? What rules?’ His fists clenched. ‘Don’t play games with me. Rachel.’

  ‘I—I’m not playing games,’ she protested. ‘I—you chose to go to Della’s party——’

  ‘Della’s party I’ He repeated her words contemptuously. ‘Damn you, you know I only agreed to join her band of card fanatics because I expected you to be there!’

  ‘What?’ Rachel stared at him disbelievingly. ‘But I don’t play cards——’

  ‘How was I to know what your employer had planned? So far as I was concerned, it was a dinner party, nothing else. Naturally I expected you would be there.’

  ‘Oh, Jake …’ Rachel’s knees gave out on her this time, and she sank down weakly on to the bed, staring up at him helplessly. ‘Jake—I thought you’d done it deliberately.’

  ‘Done what?’ He came to stare down at her narrowly, his brooding gaze sending shivers down her spine.

  ‘I—why, going to Della’s party, of course. She said you had accepted her invitation, and I … I …’

  Jake’s eyes darkened. ‘Is that why you went out with Yates?’

  ‘Yes. Oh, yes!’

  ‘I see.’ He turned abruptly. ‘That explains it.’

  Rachel felt cold suddenly. ‘Ex—explains it?’ she echoed, as he walked deliberately towards the door. ‘Is—is that all you came here for? To find out—why I went out with Carl Yates?’

  Jake reached the door and turned, one hand on the handle. ‘That’s right. I had to know.’

  Rachel got to her feet. ‘But why?’

  Jake bent his head. ‘Call it what you like? Pride—curiosity.’ He looked up. ‘Or good old jealousy. It’s all the same.’

  ‘Jake!’ She stared at him helplessly. ‘Jake—please. Don’t go!’

  ‘I have to go,’ he said roughly. ‘I can’t stay here all night.’

  ‘You—you could,’ she breathed huskily.

  He shook his head slowly. ‘No, Rachel. We both know I can’t do that. Besides,’ there was irony in his tone, ‘I’m not all
owed any kind of stimulation.’

  ‘Oh, Jake!’

  Before he could open the door, she flung herself across the room and wound her arms around his waist, pressing her face to his chest. He was wearing a ruffled silk shirt beneath his dinner jacket, and the lace tickled her nose, but he smelled warm and male and somehow familiar, and she couldn’t bear to let him go without letting him know how much she cared about him.

  ‘Rachel!’ His hands touched her shoulders reluctantly, pushing her coat down over her arms, lingeringly probing the bones of her throat. ‘Rachel, you don’t know what you’re doing,’ he breathed, the words an obvious effort for him, and as she continued to cling to him, she began to feel the effect she was having on him.

  ‘Don’t go,’ she repeated, lifting her face to his, and he was no longer capable of denying himself the satisfaction of parting her lips with his own.

  She was ready for him this time, and her mouth opened shamelessly beneath his as she moved instinctively against him, arching her body to the muscled hardness of his thighs with all the untried sensuality of her nature. The aching longing she had felt for him gave her all the experience she needed, and she let her coat fall unheeded to the floor.

  At last Jake managed to draw back sufficiently to rest his forehead against hers, and she could feel the dampness of perspiration beading his brow. There was a film of sweat all over his face, and she touched his cheek anxiously.

  ‘Jake! Are you——’

  ‘I’m all right,’ he assured her, rather tersely. ‘Just exercising control, that’s all.’

  ‘Jake——’

  ‘Rachel, listen to me. This can’t go on.’

  She dragged back her head to stare at him. ‘Wh—what do you mean?’ she demanded painfully. ‘Why can’t it?’ She licked her lips, and then went on awkwardly: ‘I—we can wait. Until you’re better.’

  ‘Oh, Rachel!’ Wry humour twisted his mouth. ‘You react on me like—amphetamine. But like amphetamine, you could become habit-forming.’

  Rachel’s brow furrowed. ‘I—I don’t think I understand——’