House of Mirrors

by Yvonne Whittal

  With an expertise that should not have surprised her, her moulded her hips to his own with a firm hand in the hollow of her back, and she felt herself trembling when his injured hand found its way into her hair to cup the back of her head and tilt her face up to his. She knew what was going to happen, she could see it in his eyes, and if ever there was a time to break free and run, then it was now. Something warned her that she was courting disaster, but her limbs felt as if they had turned to water and, when he lowered his dark hear, she did nothing to avoid that warm mouth which was taking possession of hers.

  “Too late!” her mind accused when her lips quivered responsively beneath his, but her heart was beating so hard against her ribs that it drowned out whatever else the little voice of her conscience might have said.

  Liz had dreamed about this often enough, and there was a time when she had tried to imagine what it would feel like to be kissed by Grant, but never, not even in her wildest dreams, had she imagined this pulsating warmth that leapt through her veins.

  It felt as if she had imbibed in a heady wine, and was becoming intoxicated by it. The scent of his aftershave mingled with that of tobacco, and stirred her senses until she was in no position to resist when the sensual pressure of his mouth parted her inexperienced lips. She had been kissed before, but never had she imagined that a kiss could be so intimate, and her hands slid upwards across his chest to cling tightly to his shoulders when it felt as if the room was spinning crazily about her.

  She was experiencing a fiery initiation into the intimacies shared between a man and a woman, and the effect it was having on her emotions was alarming. Those clever hands caressed her, awakening the most primitive fires within her, and she stirred protestingly against him.

  Grant released her at once, but she had difficulty in controlling her breathing, and so, it seemed, had he. His pupils had become dilated to the extent that his eyes were almost black, and a fine film of perspiration stood out on his broad forehead and upper lip. He looked disturbed and quite unlike himself, but then neither was she as calm as she would have wanted to be. She could still feel the heat of his body against her own, her scalp tingled where his fingers had lain, and the intimacy of his kisses and caresses had left her flushed and awkward.

  “I’ll put the kettle on for tea,” she said in a voice which was surprisingly steady, and he did not try to stop her when she picked up the chair and brushed past him on her way to the kitchen.

  She made the tea and set out the cups. But her mind was not on what she was doing. She was reliving those moments in his arms, and she was having difficulty in coming to terms with the blinding realisation that her teenage crush had stood the test of time to develop into a deep and lasting devotion. Why it should have surprised her she could not say, but it did.

  “Liz…” She swung round nervously at the sound of Grant’s deep voice. “About what happened just now. I wouldn’t want you to think that-”

  “That you have any serious intentions where I’m concerned?” she interrupted him swiftly, and hid her hurt behind a laugh when the look on his face told her that she had hit the centre target. “Good heavens, Grant, I’m not that naïve. You kissed me on the spur of the moment, and so what!”

  He smiled twistedly. “I’m relieved that you see it in that light.”

  She poured his tea and placed his cup before him. She felt very much like saying “Drink it, and I hope it scalds your mouth, or chokes you!” But instead she remained silent, and left him there in the kitchen while she went through to the bathroom to check on the items of clothing she had left to soak in the bath.

  Liz tried to behave as if nothing unusual had happened, but during the rest of that morning, and the next, she was aware of Grant’s brooding glances following her wherever she went. For the first time in her life she felt nervous and edgy, as if something was brewing, but she was determined not to shy away from it.

  “Must you leave now?” Grant asked when they had finished their meal and the kitchen had been tidied.

  “I haven’t an appointment elsewhere, if that’s what you mean,” she replied cautiously.

  “Shall we go for a walk?”

  She was faintly surprised at this suggestion, but she said at once. “If you like.”

  They took his favourite path down to the grassy verge of the river, walking in silence, and taking care not to touch each other. It was a hot day with not even a breeze stirring the silent veld, and birds and insects alike seemed to seek refuge from the scorching sun.

  Grant paused beneath a shady willow and they stood facing each other a little awkwardly beside the slow-moving river. His brooding glance travelled over her.

  Taking in the golden sheen of her hair which framed her small, pointed face, and then his eyes slid down to linger on the gentle curves of her youthful figure. She felt the heat of his eyes on her body like a physical touch, and her pulse rate quickened, choking off her breath. His eyes were seducing her, tearing at her defences, and making her aware of his virile masculinity to the extent that she quivered on the brink of an aching yet unfamiliar need.

  “Stop looking at me like that, Grant,” she managed at last when his glance lingered with purposeful intent on her soft, generous mouth.

  “Like what? He queried mockingly.

  “As if you’re hatching some devious plot with me in mind”

  He laughed shortly, strong white teeth flashing and contrasting heavily with his tanned features, and there was a curious light in his eyes when he asked, “Is that how I’ve been looking at you?”

  “You know you have, and you’ve been doing so ever since-“

  “Ever since I kissed you yesterday?” he filled in for her when she paused abruptly. Liz nodded, too embarrassed to speak, and his eyes glittered strangely when he said: “I haven’t been able to forget what you felt like in my arms. You felt so small and soft, and you were so very responsive.”

  “Shut up!” she snapped, her cheeks flaming.

  “I never thought I would ever see you blush,” he teased with a faintly derisive smile curving his mouth, and when his hands framed her heated face that strange weakness invaded her limb once again.

  He lowered his head, and his breath mingled with hers before their lips met.

  His kisses were light, and explorative, as if he were sampling her lips and trying to decide whether he liked the taste, and Liz stood perfectly still, enduring his tantalising kisses with her hands clenched tightly at her side. She found it a tremendous effort not to respond, and not to give in to the desire to drag his head down to deepen their kiss. But she was determined to resist him.

  Grant laughed softly against her mouth and she knew with startling clarity that he was fully aware of her desperate efforts to remain detached. She raised her hands in anger, intending to thrust him from her, but he seemed to anticipate her move, and she found herself held captive in the hard circle of his arms. She was strong despite her size, but she could not break his hold, and his intimate invasion of her mouth sapped her energy. That intoxicating warmth invaded her body once more, and she melted shamelessly against his hard, muscled frame. It was so much easier to respond than to resist, and her arms were locked about his neck when he finally lowered her on to the soft grass.

  His mouth devoured hers with long, drugging kisses until she could no longer think coherently. She was conscious only of the clean male smell of him, of the almost convulsive movements of his hands against her back, and of the heavy beat of his heart against her own. When his mouth eventually left hers it was to explore the sensitive column of her throat, and to trail a path of fire along her smooth shoulder to where the thin strap of her cotton dress had been brushed aside by his impatient fingers. A thousand little nerves seemed to come alive to his touch, but sanity returned when she felt the heat of his hand through the thin material at her breast.

  “Please don’t,” she groaned, gripping his wrist tightly and dragging his hand away from her.

  Grant raised his head,
and the eyes that met hers were dark and stormy with suppressed passion when he grunted, “What’s the matter?”

  “We’ve known each other for a long time, haven’t we, Grant?” she asked, succeeding somehow in making her voice sound casual despite the alarming way her pulses continued to react to his nearness.

  “We have,” he acknowledged abruptly.

  “Long enough for us to be honest with each other?”

  “I would say so,” he replied with a derisive smile and amazing tolerance.

  “Am I being placed in the category of light entertainment?” she questioned him bluntly, and he released her at once so that she could sit up.

  “Is that what you think?” he demanded harshly, his eyes on her hand when it went up to adjust the strap of her dress.

  “At this precise moment I don’t really know what to think,” Liz confessed quietly, feeling totally miserable as she sat there on the grass beside him.

  “You’ve been kissed before, haven’t you?”

  “It’s not something I’ve indulged in often, and most certainly not to this extent, and …” Her voice wavered precariously, but she pulled herself together and said awkwardly, “I’m more than just a little out of my depth, Grant.”

  “In what way?”

  “I’m not like Pamela,” she sighed, pushing her trembling fingers through her long hair and looking everywhere but at him. “She would know how to deal with a situation such as this, but I don’t.”

  “Ah, yes,” he murmured, and the mockery in his voice grated along her raw, quivering nerves. “To you kissing is a serious business, and not to be trifled with.”

  “Don’t mock me, Grant!” she lashed out at him in a flash of temper. “And if it’s games you want to play, then I suggest you find someone else!”

  She leapt to her feet and ran back to the cottage as if the devil himself were after her, and when she drove away from High Ridges minutes later she was in a filthy mood which was quite alien to her nature.

  Stacy took one look at Liz when she walked into the house half an hour later, and asked: “What happened?”

  “What makes you think that something happened?” Liz fumed.

  “You don’t generally rev the car’s engine unnecessarily and slam doors,”

  Stacy explained, eyeing Liz curiously. “Did Grant make a pass at you?”

  Liz gave her sister a withering look before crossing the hall towards the stairs.

  “I received a letter from Pamela this morning.” Liz paused on the second step and turned as Stacy said: “She added a postscript for you.”

  “Did she?” Liz asked cautiously.

  “She simply confirms what I’ve said all along,” Stacy told her.

  Liz smiled tightly. “I don’t need a medal for guessing that it has something to do with Grant.”

  “I’ll read it to you,” said Stacy, taking the letter from the drawer in the hall table and opening it. “Tell Liz to stay away from Grant. He’s deadly,” she read out the words Pamela had scrawled on the thin sheet of paper.

  A wave of anger swept through Liz, and it was so intense that she felt like tearing down the house in an effort to relieve it.

  “Tell Pamela to mind her own business, and that goes for you too!” she heard her voice echoing shrilly through the silent house, then se was darting up the stair, taking them two at a time in her haste to get away before Stacy saw the ridiculous tears stinging her eyes.

  “Damn, damn, damn! ” she cursed loudly in the privacy of her room, then she gave way to the tears of frustration and anger.

  It was futile wishing that she could be like Pamela. She was Liz the horror, the impossible, the daredevil. She had been afraid of nothing and no one until this afternoon when she had found herself floundering as if in deep, unknown water. She had wanted to let go, she had wanted the tide to take her where it willed, but she had been afraid. Afraid! If those moments had meant nothing to Gran, then they had meant something to her, and she dared not let him make a mockery of her feelings.

  An hour later Liz had calmed down sufficiently to apologise to Stacy, but nothing Stacy could say would dissuade her from returning to High Ridges the following morning.

  If Liz was surprised to find the cottage looking as if Grant had indulged in a drinking orgy the night before, then he seemed even more surprised to find her there when he returned from his walk later that morning.

  “Did you think I wouldn’t be coming back?” she asked lightly, switching on the kettle and spooning tea into the pot.

  “I must admit I had nightmares of eating out of tins again,” he confessed with a faintly sheepish grin.

  “My anger was directed at myself, and not at you.” She cast him an apologetic glance. “I’m sorry.”

  “Now I wonder why you were angry with yourself,” he laughed softly.

  “Could it be that underneath that tough exterior of ‘Liz the Horror’ there lurks a frightened young woman?”

  He was close to the truth that only the tight control she had on herself saved her from giving herself away. “As a child I was afraid of walking down the passage with the darkness behind me, but only until one day when I turned and faced into it.” Her steady gaze met his. “I learnt a valuable lesson.”

  “Are you saying that if you face the things you fear, then you find you have the means with which to conquer your fears?”

  “That’s about it,” she smiled.

  He peered intently into her eye. “Do you fear me?”

  “No.” The smell of the sun and the bush seemed to cling to him, and it stirred her senses dangerously. “I fear myself,” she heard herself confessing her vulnerability.

  His eyebrows rose in sardonic amusement. “Now, what am I supposed to make of that?”

  “I’ll let you know when I’ve unravelled it for myself,” she promised lightly, avoiding his probing eyes as she concentrated on making tea.

  He did not pursue the subject, but as she went about her usual tasks she found herself colliding repeatedly with Grant, or his brooding glances. It made her jittery, and she eventually had no option but to order him out of the kitchen. He went, but he returned a half hour later with a small bunch of wild yellow daisies, and she observed him unobtrusively while he filled an empty pickle jar with water and thrust the daisies into it.

  They had their meal with the bright yellow daisies on the table between them, and there was something about his ridiculous gesture that made her want to laugh and cry simultaneously, abut she smothered the feeling forcibly, and concentrated instead on her food.

  When they reached the coffee stage the silence between them became oddly strained, and Liz was suddenly in a hurry to get away. She drank her coffee as quickly as possible, then stacked the dishes into the small sink. She tapped water on to the plates, and squeezed detergent into it, but all the while she was conscious of Grant watching her intently.

  It was more than just unnerving, she thought furiously when she was elbow-deep in the soapsuds, but if he had something on his mind, then it was up to him to speak.

  Was he thinking of Myra Cavendish? Liz felt chilled. Perhaps he was wishing that Myra was here, washing his dishes, sweeping his floors, cooking his food, and although Liz found it hilarious trying to imagine the glamorous Myra doing those chores, she could not ignore that painful little stab in the region of her heart.

  “Would you make me a fresh cup of coffee before you go, and bring it to the lounge?” Grant’s voice interrupted her disturbing thoughts, and she glanced at him over her shoulder with a slightly guilty start as if she was certain he had somehow penetrated her thought.

  “Yes, of course,” she heard herself saying, but she was speaking to an empty kitchen, for Grant was already walking down the short passage towards the lounge.

  Liz worked swiftly, washing, drying, packing away, and when she finally stood with Grant’s cup of coffee in her hands she found herself staring at the daisies he had arranged so haphazardly in the pickle jar. It had made her wa
nt to laugh and cry before, but now she felt only like crying and, swallowing down the lump in her throat, she went through to the lounge to give Grant his coffee.

  “Don’t go yet,” he said when she turned to leave. “I’ve been thinking a great deal these past few days.”

  Liz stood immobile, her hands jammed into the pockets of her wide skirt to hide the fact that they were shaking. “He’s going away,” she thought bitterly. She had lived through a lifetime of Grant walking in and out of her life, but this would be the last time their paths would cross, for the agony of saying goodbye had reached its peak.

  His cup of coffee stood untouched on the table beside his chair, and she stared down into those shuttered eyes, steeling herself for whatever it was he was going to say.

  “Will you marry me, Liz?”

  Chapter 4

  It took several heart-stopping seconds for his words to penetrate the protective armour she had placed around her mind. “Will you marry me, Liz?” he had said in a cold, dispassionate voice, and for one mind-jarring moment she was not sure whether to laugh, cry, or scream abuse at him. He was joking, of course. He could not possibly be asking her to become his wife, could he?

  There was no sign of laughter on those rigidly handsome features, only the quiet, brooding look of a man who was waiting with remarkable patience for an answer to his emotionless proposal, and anger replaced the numbness of shock.

  “I’m told a proposal of marriage is normally preceded by a declaration of love,” she informed him with mocking derision, and he had the grace to look faintly uncomfortable.

  “I haven’t any love to offer you, but I do need a wife.”

  “What you’re actually saying is that you need a woman in your bed,” she stated bluntly.

  “Is that so terrible?”