Sophisticated Seduction

by Jayne Bauling

  ‘She does,’ he answered her trenchantly, amusement vanishing. ‘Nevertheless, I am still going to phone Ade.’

  ‘You’re so good at giving advice, but you can’t take it, can you?’ she accused with a touch of exasperation.

  ‘Oh? Is that what it was meant to be?’ he queried in a tone of exaggerated interest. ‘Are you so old and wise, then, Bridget? Possessing so much experience of life that you feel qualified to advise me?’

  ‘At least I’m not as jaded as you are, although you seem to think that’s a virtue,’ she flared, inwardly flustered and hating the derogatory look with which he waited for her answer. ‘But—’

  ‘So don’t do it,’ he instructed her perfunctorily, and walked away, leaving her sitting there, angry and agitated, but oppressed too by a feeling of futility that was very similar to the momentary despair that had assailed her during dinner the night before on realising how deeply entrenched his cynicism was.

  This time it wasn’t his cynicism that was responsible, however, but his arrogant conviction that he alone in the world could exist and function without the help, support or advice of others, the belief setting him apart and out of reach, isolating him terribly.

  CHAPTER THREE

  NICHOLAS found parking for the company car he was using and walked Bridget round parts of Delhi that morning, Old Delhi a labyrinth of mosques, temples, monuments and chowks or bazaars, the new city an elegant green paradise with wide cool avenues and quiet arcades.

  ‘I hadn’t realised before I arrived that it was so much a garden city,’ she confided admiringly.

  ‘There is said to be a tree for every soul living here, and that’s a lot of trees,’ he commented. ‘Another thing that’s said of Delhi is that it’s the burial-ground of empires—seven in all.’

  They walked on the Rajpath from Purana Qila, an early Mogul fort, to the President’s palace, Rashtrapati Bhavan, and later Nicholas escorted her through the ancient splendour of the Red Fort, his knowledge of India’s history helping her visualise the imperial magnificence of those days of the Grand Mogul and elephants bearing richly ornate howdahs with liveried mahouts. He showed her Jama Masjid, all red sandstone and white marble, India’s largest mosque, for, despite Partition and their being a minority, India’s Muslim population was among the largest in the world. Then, as a contrast, he took her to visit a modern Hindu temple, vibrant with red and yellow, where the Indian pantheon, both gods and goddesses, was represented.

  Bridget was fascinated by it all, the rich, colourful and bewildering diversity of this capital city entrancing her. It embodied centuries of history in its physical contrasts, from the imageless beauty and restraint of the Muslims, falling into excess towards the decline of the Mogul empire, to the ornament and vivid colour of the Hindus, and the sometimes dignified understatement, sometimes self-congratulatory pomposity of the departed British.

  ‘But a city is really its people, isn’t it?’ Bridget prompted thoughtfully as they stood looking at the impressive Sir Herbert Baker-designed parliament house and government buildings.

  Delhi drew men and women from all parts of the country, representing all India’s great faiths—Orthodox Brahmins, Muslims, Sikhs, Jains, Christians, Buddhists and Zoroastrians.

  Glancing at him, she found Nicholas scanning her face.

  ‘You like people, don’t you?’ His own expression was unreadable.

  ‘Why do you have to make it sound like some kind of—of aberration?’ Bridget couldn’t help herself, galled by the slight note of censure she heard. ‘Most people are likeable.’

  He shrugged, as if deciding that she was entitled to the opinion even if he didn’t hold it himself, but as he obviously couldn’t be bothered to contradict her she thought he was probably bored with her company and comments. A man like this would be accustomed to companions—women—as sophisticated as he was, capable of conversing on his level and able to discuss any subject he introduced without letting his cynicism upset them.

  ‘Why are you looking at me like that? I’ve warned you not to get ideas about me, Bridget. I’m doing this, I’m here with you now, for one reason only, and that is to safeguard my sister’s interests.’

  It jerked her out of her thoughts, and Bridget felt obscurely guilty, wondering how she had been looking.

  ‘Which are not in any danger from me, and neither are you! The only idea in my head was how little we’ve got in common, although you’d be perfect for my older sister—only I like her too much to wish you on her,’ she claimed defensively and not entirely truthfully as the idea had only just occurred to her that second.

  Nicholas flung her an irritable glance. ‘If she’s anything like you—’

  ‘Oh, no, Frances is beautiful,’ Bridget insisted.

  ‘Who told you I’m so shallow as to be attracted solely by a woman’s looks?’ he enquired with an edge to his voice.

  ‘And she’s clever, and funny—and sophisticated!’ Bridget finally realised what had put the thought into her mind.

  ‘That’s a relief,’ he observed drily. ‘Are there any more of you?’

  ‘Just my younger sister Rosie.’

  ‘So you’re a middle child?’ It seemed to amuse him, his smile so devastating that she was jolted. ‘Aren’t they the ones who get ignored and consequently become ultracompetitive and aggressive in an effort to gain attention?’

  ‘My family have never ignored me.’ The contented lack of emphasis was eloquent of the warmth and emotional security of her upbringing.

  ‘Because you’re the nice one, I suppose?’ Nicholas taunted, although his tone was still indulgent, almost teasing, but she knew he couldn’t possibly be flirting with her. ‘Well, it’s probably a more effective tactic than aggression, although you could end up with them taking advantage of it and walking all over you.’

  ‘I think my sisters are very nice,’ she said loyally, and sparks of mischief appeared amid the soft shadows that made a mystery of her eyes most of the time. ‘Although Frances can be a bit bossy, so maybe my idea wasn’t so good, as you’d probably clash. I suppose it’s being the eldest, the same as you. You’ve both got so used to being in charge that you can never bring yourselves to delegate the responsibility.’

  He was looking annoyed again. ‘But in your family your parents are still around to act as the real authority, aren’t they?’

  ‘Yes, we’re luckier than you,’ Bridget agreed contritely.

  ‘You may be, but I wouldn’t say it’s always a lucky situation, having living parents.’

  Bridget couldn’t prevent her sharply indrawn breath. His cynicism still appalled her, although she should have been getting used to it by now.

  ‘That’s a truly terrible thing to say,’ she protested in a rather wondering tone.

  ‘Isn’t it?’ Nicholas concurred smoothly, his face swiftly closed against any attempt at understanding. ‘But true in certain cases, nevertheless. Think about it, Bridget. But you can relax for now, I won’t upset any more of your innocent ideals. This has taken longer than I anticipated, and I’ve arranged to meet Wanda. If I drop you at the Embassy, you can get a taxi back to the house, can’t you? You’ve got money?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And can you tell Sita Menon I’ll be out for dinner tonight, please? Let’s go.’

  The dramatic change in his mood bewildered Bridget. The informative guide of the morning no longer existed, an impatient desire to rid himself of her company apparently now his sole interest, and he barely spoke to her again before leaving her at the Embassy. Well, perhaps his mind was on Wanda and the several hours they were obviously planning to spend together.

  Bridget quite enjoyed her brief visit because the young man on duty who received her was utterly unlike her idea of a member of an embassy’s staff, his suggestions as to how she could most benefit, personally if not professionally, from her stay in India so outrageously depraved that she couldn’t take him seriously.

  ‘And watch out for Virginia Stirling’
s big brother,’ he warned her flippantly as he saw her into a taxi, insisting on paying the driver in advance. ‘I’ve heard he’s in town, and if you think I’m depraved, sweet, wait until you meet him!’

  Bridget stopped giggling over his plans for their elopement and said quietly, ‘I already have.’

  ‘And he jumped on you?’

  ‘I don’t think he sees me quite that way,’ she submitted drily.

  A smile spread over the boyish yet somehow dissipated face. ‘Is he losing his touch or just his sight, I wonder?’

  Back at the house, Bridget gave Sita the message from Nicholas and ended up accompanying her to visit her nephew, a mischievous little boy despite having both legs in plaster as the result of an attempt to swing from his parents’ flat’s balcony to a neighbour’s.

  They parted at the hospital and Bridget returned to the empty house in a taxi to make herself a light meal. The phone rang at about ten o’clock and, as she had anticipated, it was Virginia.

  ‘Bridget? My brother wouldn’t let me speak to you last night—I mean this morning, or whatever it was there. I asked him to look after you, I suppose because I’m so used to his doing it for all of us, but I’ve been uneasy about it ever since, because I’d temporarily forgotten how he tends to treat people like you. Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Bridget replied, perplexed by her employer’s agitation.

  ‘I should have thought sooner. I want to warn you about him,’ Virginia swept on. ‘You’ve got to be careful, Bridget. Keep out of his way as much as possible; that’s the best thing. For some reason, Nicholas has always taken an instant dislike to people like you—nice peoplegood people! It’s like the way Satan hates innocence and goodness and tries to corrupt them… I’ve always thought it’s because they remind him of when he was an angel among the others before his fall, and maybe they remind my brother of when he still had ideals and believed in people. He wants to destroy people like that, make them the same as him.’

  ‘What time is it there?’ Bridget demanded faintly, suspecting that Virginia must have been drinking to be so fluently fanciful. ‘Honestly, Virginia, your brother hasn’t tried to destroy me, or anything like that, and he has even taken your totally unnecessary request that he look after me sufficiently seriously to ensure that I know my way around Delhi, only he did say he was doing it in your interests, not mine, as he has decided I’m not capable of carrying out what you sent me here to do. Oh, he has been quite rude some of the time, but there has been nothing as mind-boggling as what you’re saying. Aren’t you exaggerating?’

  ‘A little, perhaps, but just be careful,’ Virginia repeated. ‘Not that I regret coming to America with Mortimer, but I’m sorry to have let you in for Nicholas.’

  First her new friend at the Embassy and now Virginia! Bridget was getting a bit tired of people warning her about what a terrible man Nicholas was—she already knew, anyway—but it was easy enough to distract Virginia by talking about the fabrics she was here to buy.

  She felt restless after the call, so she opened the doors at one end of the living-room and went out into the formal walled courtyard there, sitting on a low stone seat to watch the play of the central fountain from which an intricate pattern of tiles rayed out in perfect symmetry. The light from the house turned the gently arcing jets of water a softly sparkling platinum, and the sound was soothing.

  Both Virginia and Nicholas himself seemed to have an exaggerated idea of her innocence, she reflected. How innocent could anyone be in such an age of frank awareness as this one? She wanted to laugh at Virginia’s theatrical warning, and yet it disturbed her obscurely.

  Presently, the humid warmth of the night and the fountain’s liquid music lulled her, and she sat there physically content, and beginning to be mentally untroubled. She had always had a tendency to dream, and if she had been asked she would have thought a moment and supposed that Loris Stirling had been occupying her thoughts again, although Nicholas came into them too, probably simply because the two men were cousins and dreams were drifting, wayward things.

  She was only aware that the breath of sound that had reached her ears was real after she had spent a dreamily fanciful moment in contemplation of the lovely but remote possibility of an angel sighing.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, glancing over her shoulder.

  ‘Where were you earlier this evening?’ Nicholas demanded tautly, coming to stand between her and the fountain. ‘I rang the house but there was no reply.’

  ‘I went with Sita to visit her nephew in hospital,’ she told him amicably.

  ‘Why?’ he shot at her in the interrogative manner with which she was already so familiar.

  ‘Because I wanted to, and because Sita thought a new face might help alleviate his boredom and stop him wasting the nurses’ time by upsetting all the other children. I did help, I think. He’s one of those little boys with a million questions to ask.’ Affection softened her face as she recalled bright, inquisitive dark eyes. ‘A bit like you have.’

  ‘I’m not a little boy,’ he reminded her sardonically.

  ‘No.’

  A strange little hiatus ensued. Face upturned, Bridget gazed at him, conscious of tension between them. Although he was facing the light that streamed softly from the house, he appeared as a dark, unknowable figure to her—unknowable, or unknown, except for two starkly undeniable facts: he was very adult and very male.

  ‘Whereas you—’

  ‘Virginia phoned again.’ Bridget rushed into speech, driven by an almost frantic reluctance to hear what he had to say.

  ‘What did she want?’

  The panicky feeling subsided as she realised that she had succeeded in distracting him.

  ‘To tell me that you’re the devil and you’ll want to destroy me.’ She condensed Virginia’s analysis innocently, with the glimmer of a smile. ‘She has changed her mind about your looking after me, you see. I’m to keep out of your way instead.’

  Bridget heard herself and was shocked. She hardly knew herself, so mischievously challenging all on an impulse, when a moment ago she had been so frightened, not of Nicholas, but of the fraught atmosphere between them, that sense of the distance between them being dangerously laden with something explosive and potentially fatal.

  To her relief, he didn’t react, merely repeating contemplatively, ‘Destroy you? She’s exaggerating.’

  ‘That’s what I told her,’ Bridget agreed happily.

  ‘Although I could quite easily spoil you, I suppose.’ Nicholas stopped to think about it for a moment. ‘All that innocence and faith in humanity—or do you think she meant sexually?’

  A last glance shimmering upwards from out of her shadowed face, and then she had to drop her eyes, disconcerted and possessing no answer to the bold question.

  She was aware of Nicholas taking a step towards her and subsiding in front of her, with an elegant economy of movement, to kneel on the tiles at her feet.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she demanded, with an indignation profoundly felt but not understood.

  ‘Trying to find out what this is all about,’ he answered her, with a harshly derisive humour that mocked both of them.

  ‘Sex?’ In need, Bridget found a veneer of sophistication, as fine as the rind of a new moon flying above them. ‘That’s an important part of your life, isn’t it? I suppose you’re one of those men who keep a sex manual beside the bed? The Kama Sutra?’

  Her hands were resting on her lap, one curved into the cup of the other, and one of his, dark and shapely, joined them there, palm downward. She had changed into another cotton dress, dark and lighter green floral motifs on an off-white background, the material so thin that it was as if her taut, slender thigh were bare beneath the warmth and weight of his hand.

  ‘I don’t need to,’ Nicholas quipped. ‘But you’re just all theory, aren’t you? And theory can’t cause regrets. Only real experience does that, so perhaps you really should keep away from me, Bridget. I’m not the right man
to satisfy your curiosity.’

  But instead of enabling her to take the advice by moving away from her he remained where he was, his other hand coming up to her lap too now, and she felt both of hers taken and lifted in a light clasp as he bent his head. He seemed to be examining her hands and fingers, the nails short and unvarnished but bearing the soft sheen of excellent health. He was turning them this way and that, and running his thumbs back and forth over the smoothness of her skin.

  Bridget was subject to a strange tightening sensation in her breast as she stared at his dark head and chiselled features, his eyes hidden from her by long lashes as he continued to study her hands. Normally she would have snatched them away, disturbed at finding herself in such close contact with a virtual stranger, but she couldn’t seem to find the thought that should dictate the action, and what thoughts were flicking through her mind were all incongruous and fragmented, scattering elusively if she tried to pin them down.

  Gazing so unwaveringly at his head, as if spellbound by its beautiful shape, she was hardly aware of her slim fingers beginning to stir against the strength of his, writhing delicately about them, submitting briefly to his hold and then sliding away again, only to capture or be captured once more.

  After a minute, though, Nicholas loosened his clasp, caressing her wrists instead now, and moving on, warm fingers travelling up over her bare arms, pausing for his thumbs to explore the vulnerable hollows of the inside of her elbows, then continuing the journey up to her shoulders.

  Bridget shivered uncontrollably, bringing his glance flying to her face in a swift, raking assessment. Whatever he saw there caused him a slight, contained smile that was more sardonic than anything else, and he rose with such fluid grace that it seemed to be a single flowing movement that brought him to sit beside her.

  ‘Nicholas…’ She sounded uncertain, with a stifled, somnolent quality slowing her voice.

  ‘Yes?’ he prompted, sitting half turned towards her, but she couldn’t answer him because now he had an arm about her shoulders while his free hand rested confidently on her lap again.