by Kim Lawrence
A mental scream was building in her head; this was real…it was actually happening. Her head felt as if it would explode; there was no vocal outlet for the anguish that swiftly flowed through her ruthlessly. With my own sister…The words went around in her head. Not Charlotte, she prayed uselessly, the concept was too awful to contemplate, but it was true. Gavin’s reply left no room for doubt.
‘But it’s you I want, darling.’
‘I couldn’t, knowing I’d wrecked Emmy’s happiness. I couldn’t live with that.’
Emily touched her cheek, surprised to find it wet with tears. Teeth clamped over her lower lip, she closed her eyes. She couldn’t live with it, poor Charlotte, she thought bitterly. Charlotte was a fraud. Anger mixed with an acute nausea surged through her in violent waves. It seems a little late for regrets, sister, dear.
‘But I need you…’
She had never heard that inflexion in Gavin’s voice, she wished she hadn’t heard it now. The pain was intense, and humiliation more profound than anything she had encountered before confronted her like a solid object. It jolted into life a long-forgotten memory, just as an odour could conjure up some distant recollection of a time, a place, an event consigned to the dim recesses of memory.
‘Emily needs you.’
She shook her head free of the scarlet fingernails running through the dark hair of the tall man. The image was startlingly vivid. Her mind returned to her sister’s soft pink nails and her fiancé’s blond hair. The pain was acute; it stimulated her senses, and she was conscious of every nuance in the voices; her ears, strained to hear, could imagine every gesture, every touch.
‘Emily needs someone to agree with her.’ Bitterness was unmistakable and she bit her lip to stop the sound of distress which obstructed her throat. ’she never actually listens to me.’
The duplicity was like a physical blow. He was angry with her…The irony tasted bitter in her dry mouth. She couldn’t listen to any more; she felt as if the walls were closing in around her. With her hands clamped over her ears she ran towards the open door that led out on to the terrace, past caring if they heard her.
The soft evening air hit her after the hothouse atmosphere of the emotion-clogged room she’d fled from. She hit the turf running and didn’t stop until her lungs complained too fiercely. She sank down on to her knees and her head fell forward, spreading her honeybrown hair around her. A touch on the exposed nape of her neck made her start and raise her tear-stained, turbulent features.
‘Go away!’ she spat venomously. The last thing she needed right now was any of Luke’s barbed comments. What had happened was bad enough, but that Luke of all people had heard every humiliating syllable was the crowning glory.
He met the tear-drenched, golden-brown eyes, shot with gold as they always were when she was in the grip of strong emotion, impassively. ‘OK,’ he agreed after a short pause.
She watched as he turned, his long-legged stride, peculiarly elegant, swallowing up the ground. ‘No, don’t go…’
He turned. ‘You need a whipping-boy?’ he asked, one dark eyebrow quirking.
‘Well, if it’s sympathy I’m after I wouldn’t be turning to you, would I?’ she snapped back. She sniffed loudly; the instinctive words needed an explanation, and she was glad he’d supplied it because she couldn’t. Why cling to Luke’s company? She pushed her heavy hair back from her face and straightened the skirt of her heavy silk dress. ‘Grass stains all over,’ she said, wondering why she was discussing the state of her clothes when her whole future lay in shreds around her…
How could they? Outraged horror blinded her to her surroundings; she forgot the man standing contemplating her limp, distraught figure with enigmatic eyes. How long had they been…? They had been lovers… they were; some instinct told her this. The intimacy had been in their voices.
She recalled Gavin’s smiling face as her parents had toasted them earlier; nothing in his exterior had given any clue to the infidelity which even then he—they— must have been plotting and scheming. Had he continued with the charade because he hadn’t been totally sure of Charlotte? Am I a reserve? she wondered furiously.
Luke reached her side. He held out a hand to heave her to her feet. ‘In that dress, Emily, no one’s eyes stray as far as the skirt,’ he assured her. His eyes were fixed unapologetically on the upper slopes of her breasts, which gleamed above the stark black fabric of her strapless gown.
‘Not everybody has such a sordid mind as you,’ she told him. The sexual innuendo was peculiar: nothing like that ever entered their relationship…friendship would be stretching it to breaking-point, though he wasn’t always as unpleasant as he had been this evening. Luke sparred with her, baited her, tried and occasionally succeeded in shocking her, but nothing intimate. Even in her present state of miserable confusion she registered that she didn’t care for that brief comment, made more to distract her than for any other reason, she was sure. Was that Luke’s idea of kindness? His next words firmly contradicted this concept and made her catch her breath.
‘If you find a healthy admiration of a good cleavage sordid, maybe that’s why lover boy has looked elsewhere,’ he suggested unsympathetically.
She felt torn between a strong desire to collapse into tears of pain, and violent outrage at the heartless comment. The brilliant blue regard was as cold and indifferent as ice; pride made her face him without a quiver in her voice, and a sense of self-preservation kept her hands firmly at her sides. The pleasure of striking him would be diluted by the fact that he would undoubtedly retaliate in kind; she’d tried that in the dim and distant past and some things never changed.
‘My sex life is none of your business.’
‘Just as well—I have such a lamentably low boredom threshold,’ he said silkily.
‘You’re enjoying this,’ she accused, her voice shaking. ‘I have just…’
‘Found out your boyfriend prefers the big sister,’ he provided helpfully as she took several deep breaths. He gave a shrug of his broad shoulders. ‘Why worry? You heard her about to make the supreme sacrifice on the altar of sisterly love.’ He made a noise of disgust. ‘I thought I was going to throw up. All you have to do is keep quiet.’
‘You think I would?’ she gasped incredulously.
He regarded her thoughtfully. ‘Actually, I thought you would have waded in and thrown the odd left hook. You do have a very tactile temperament, Emmy,’ he recalled reflectively.
Luke had an odd expression on his face that she couldn’t decipher, but then, he was fairly expert at not revealing what he was thinking; he’d honed the craft over the years until he could easily blanket his emotions under a bland smile or a rock-like impassivity that could be infuriating. But then, it was usually intended to be just that…
Something about the way he said ’tactile’ made a shiver run down her spine: his rough velvet voice managed to make the word sound oddly voluptuous.
‘These days I actually think things out before reacting,’ she replied huskily. This was all some extra amusement as far as he was concerned, a chance to see a Stapely suffer a little. Luke had never made any effort to hide his contempt for the entire family, and she couldn’t suppose she was an exception.
‘Pity, I always found your spontaneity abrasively refreshing. Possibly your Gavin has been encouraging all these latent and unattractive aspects of your character. An awful thought offers itself, infant; you could be turning into your mother.’
She listened impassively to his soft drawl. It occurred to her that it was bizarre that he was the one she’d called back in a moment of supreme crisis. It couldn’t even be considered clutching at straws because, with Luke, a person could never be sure whether he’d hold you under or pull you out—his motivation remained a mystery even though she’d known him all her life. A sure sign of mental instability, she told herself with self-dension, actively to seek his company. Shouldn’t she have flung herself in maternal arms? Actually she never had done; there was always the possibili
ty that she might have messed Mummy’s dress or mussed her hair. As for announcing that she was about to call off the engagement…Emily gave a laugh at the idea. Her mother would consider such an idea, for whatever reason, the height of insanity. What would people think…?
‘What’s so funny?’
Emily almost told him; he’d have appreciated the joke. Appearances must be maintained at all costs! But when she thought about it, it wasn’t really funny.
‘Life’s irony?’ she suggested, throwing her arms wide expansively. ‘Well, at least it’s all made your effort worthwhile. Think of the chaos when I announce a wedding will not take place!’
Luke sat down on a fallen tree and she realised for the first time that her flight had taken her as far as the riverbank; the house was a glitter of lights through the trees. ‘You aren’t even going to fight for him, then?’
‘Fight?’ she echoed. ‘He wants my sister,’ she reminded him in a choked voice. The reminder of this fact made her stomach churn; all the familiar landmarks of her life seemed to have disappeared, and the landscape seemed unfamiliar and frightening. Have I been blind? she asked herself. The anger, directed partly at herself, sent her adrenalin into overdrive. She began to pace restlessly over the damp grass. The lies, the deceit…What had been the truth? Had he ever cared for her?
She wrung her hands in anguish, her fingers growing bone-white as the action cut off her blood supply. ‘It must be a mistake,’ she muttered, half to herself, no conviction in her voice, just a sense of desperation. I spend weeks coming to the most momentous decision in my life…That makes my judgement—what? Disastrous hardly seemed sufficient, she thought bitterly.
‘Come off it, Emily, there has been nothing inadvertent going on here. Your Gavin knew exactly what he was doing—and Charlotte, despite the tears and sickly remorse, did too. They knew they were wrong but they did it anyway,’ he reminded her brutally.
‘Considering my earlier defence of Gavin, you must be feeling pretty smug,’ she, replied. The fury that sought an outlet was in her face as she turned on her heel and glared at him accusingly. ‘Anyone would think I’d expect deceit by now—God knows I’m surrounded by it every day of the week. My parents’ marriage is purely window-dressing…’ Her marriage was going to be different, she…Wrong tense, she mentally corrected herself.
‘Believe it or not, when I spoke earlier I wasn’t expecting such a dramatic revelation,’ he returned drily. ’the question is, what are you going to do? Are you going to fight for him, Emmy?’ he persisted.
Her eyes focused on his face, surprised by his question and the unusual tone in his voice. ‘I don’t want him.’
‘You love him?’
‘Don’t be absurd—I was about to marry him!’
‘Not the same thing; people marry for lots of reasons.’
He brushed a stray leaf from the dark fabric of his trousers, and watched her from beneath his thick lashes, the only concession in his features to anything not abrasively masculine.
‘Charlotte loves him,’ she said in a choked voice.
‘At least you can allow the full wrath of Charlie to fall on her head; you, sweetheart, are in the clear. You are the injured party and Charlotte is the bad guy… You do realise she won’t be able to survive the guilty bliss at the expense of her sister’s? the martyrish instinct is too deeply ingrained.’
She frowned at his sneering tone but realised the truth in his words. She felt a certain savage satisfaction. ‘Good!’
‘Who says charity begins at home?’ he remarked drily.
‘Am I supposed to make a present of him, giftwrapped? I’m the injured party here,’ she reminded him, her eyes flashing.
‘And I’m sure you’ll be universally sympathised with once the sordid details get out. Sweet revenge on big sister, and it’s not even as if you love him, is it?’
His words were like a slap in the face; they ricocheted around the small clearing. ‘How dare you——?’ she began.
‘Save the schoolmarm tone for those who are intimidated by it, infant,’ he advised softly. ‘Your sister just filched your property and the boyfriend just trampled all over your pride, and it hurts like hell; but you’re not reacting like a girl whose heart is broken, so don’t expect any sympathy from me.’
He was the most insensitive, wantonly cruel man on the face of the earth, she decided. ‘I must say I find it amusing to hear you speak about love as if you’re the expert. Thirty-two and unmarried might make some people draw conclusions,’ she suggested outrageously.
Luke took this slur on his manhood unblinkingly. ‘I could see over the potted palms,’ he said softly, recalling the recent scene in the conservatory and the advantage of his six feet three compared to her average stature. ‘Pretty boy——is that what made you pick him out to propagate the species?’
‘I’m not as preoccupied with a pretty face as you appear to be.’
‘That’s a rather bizarre avenue for you to take just to avoid a simple question,’ he said, standing up in that fluid way he had of moving. The grace and co-ordination of a jungle cat, she realised, momentarily diverted; strength masked by totally misleading indolence. Looking at his face, seeing no sign of anger at her comment, just an even more frightening absence of expression that was inhumanly cold, she wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly aware of the chill of the night.
‘Could you be asking me to offer proof of my masculinity?’ he asked, as though he were discussing the weather.
‘L-Luke!’ she stuttered, alarmed at his response to her unthinking gibe. It had never occurred to her that Luke was in any way effeminate; the idea was incredibly absurd! She’d just been hitting back without considering the fact that this target was unlikely to sit still and take the abuse. ‘Now who’s being absurd?’ she said, trying to sound firm and in control of the situation.
‘Male vanity is a very tender thing, Emmy,’ he purred, taking, much to her alarm, another step in her direction. ‘It should be nurtured.’
‘Tender my foot; you’re as fragile as the average steel bar, and about as insensitive too.’ The idea that she could pierce his impenetrable hide made her realise he had to be reacting like this just to frighten her. If she had been less distracted she’d have realised this straight away. She knew him, of course, but it occurred to her that the knowledge she had was quite superficial.
He’d been at school when she had been a small child—with her own brother, Paul, but not of course at the same school. A second-class school was as far as her father’s obligation to his adoptive cousin’s child went. It wasn’t as if she’d actually been real family, he was fond of reminding them at frequent intervals. Luke’s mother’s background had been a mystery. How had she repaid their generosity? With Luke, a cruel but, in her father’s eyes, predictable outcome to such a foolish action. She had rejected all the advantages bestowed upon her and had chosen to raise her son single-handed, turning her back on the adoptive parents who had rejected her. It had of course been a source of intense frustration to her parents when Luke, the cuckoo in the nest, had outshone their own cosseted heir in every field. Both young men had gone on to the same university, but Luke had gone on a scholarship and her brother had scraped in.
Her brother, while not her favourite person, was still her brother and her attitude to Luke owed much to his resentment. He’d slaved away, at least so he’d told them, and Luke had mixed with undesirable elements, getting involved in numerous dissident activities, and had still managed to emerge the other side with a first. The details to her young mind had meant little, but she could understand the seething frustration and dislike her brother had felt.
In retrospect, she was glad Luke had incredibly refused the offer of a post in the merchant bank her grandfather had created. He had never fitted snugly into her world; their relationship was tenuous; he was a connection rather than family. Even without the blood tie it made him the proverbial black sheep, who hadn’t had the decency to be a failure. At the time it ha
d caused a minor furore. ‘After all we’ve done for him’ and ‘bad blood will out’ had been two phrases she recalled being bandied about a good deal. But at least Paul hadn’t had to start his career under the shadow of his cousin’s flair and undoubted ability.
At the time it had been decided and, she suspected, fervently hoped that Luke would regret his arrogant assumption that he could make his own way without the cushioning secunty of the family. He hadn’t, of course, and, though his visits were not frequent, he kept in touch as much to flaunt his success as his unconventional lifestyle which was anathema to her tradition-bound household.
It hit her in that split-second as she opened her mouth to denounce Luke’s tactics and total lack of feeling. The corrosive impact of all she had lost in a few moments made her fight for air and go deathly pale. All her dreams…plans. And the humiliation. How long had they…? She tormented herself with the knowledge that while she had discussed the wedding plans with Charlotte, her sister had been…She closed her eyes, a deep cry of distress wrenched from her throat.
‘Don’t faint!’ The voice sounded faintly impatient and the hands that forced her into a sitting position and pushed her head between her knees were ruthlessly efficient but not very gentle.
Emily took several deep gulps and the singing in her ears retreated to the distance. She raised her head cautiously.
‘I never had you pegged as the swooning sort.’
She glared hazily at the harsh features of her companion and swore. ‘It’s not every day I find my boyfriend prefers my sister. I realise vulnerability isn’t a familiar term to you,’ she snarled. Considering that the first book he’d published had made her weep unashamedly, he really was the most inhumane person she had ever met. She recalled the stark black and white pictures, each with a few succinct and touching lines illustrating, without the need of lengthy dialogue, the inequality between the children scattered over the globe, their fates sealed by the arbitrary hand of geography.
‘You’ll get over it.’