By the time the belt finally rang at a quarter to nine, Sara's nerves were a taut string of expectancy.’ Counting to ten first, she made herself go slowly to answer it. Alex was leaning negligently against the jamb, carry-a briefcase, an overcoat over his arm and a bulging holdall at his feet.
'Hallo. Sorry I'm late! he said blandly. 'Had to go into the office to settle a few things that had cropped up while I was away.'
- As he bent to pick up the holdall the door to the flat opposite opened and the rather nosy woman who lived there came out. Sara caught hold of Alex's sleeve and pulled him hastily inside, slamming the door behind him.
He looked startled. 'Do you always welcome your guests like that—or only your lovers?' he asked rather sardonically. . ‘
'It's that old cat across the hall,' Sara explained. 'If she'd seen, you it would be all over the building in no time.'
‘So what? She's bound to find out about our—er—arrangement sooner or later. You're not embarrassed about it, are you ?' he added, giving her a searching look.
'No, of course not,' Sara replied with a brave show of confidence. 'I hope you haven't eaten because I've cooked dinner. Why don't you just leave your things there and we'll have it straightaway, shall we? That's unless you'd rather unpack first, of course,' she added hastily.
'No, suits me fine.' He dropped his coat and case on to a chair and followed her into the kitchen. 'Smells appetising. Are you a good cook?'
'I get plenty of practice-with the plain stuff, casseroles and things, but I don't have much time to try anything exotic,’ she told him as she took the food from the oven.
'No, I don't expect you do,' he said drily, and Sara turned quickly to look at him, expecting to find a sarcastic expression on his face, but he was looking round the room. She put the dish on the table and sat down opposite him. 'Do you always eat in the kitchen?'
'Either here or in front of the television; the flat doesn't run to a separate dining-room.'
He frowned. 'That's unfortunate. I have to entertain quite a few overseas customers.
'You could always take them out for a meal,' Sara pointed out sharply.
‘Yes, but they like to see the Englishman in his natural habitat, makes them think they're really getting to know the people.'
They began to eat and a silence fell between them that to Sara's tattered nerves seemed to go on and on. To break it she asked the only safe question she could think of. ‘What were the problems you had to sort out at the office?'
Alex's eyebrows rose mockingly. 'What a very wifely question!' He explained more fully and this got them through to the dessert stage. 'Richard phoned me this afternoon, by the way,’ he told her as he took a couple of forkfuls of the strawberry cheesecake she had so carefully made and then pushed it aside. 'He said they'd arrived safely and asked me to look out for a flat for them in London. I suppose the sort of flat they'll be able to afford will largely depend on whether you intend to hand over Nicky's money.'
'I haven't decided that yet. What's wrong with the cheesecake?'
'Hm? Oh, nothing, I suppose. I'm just not very keen on it,'
I'll try to remember that in future,' Sara said rather caustically. 'Would you like a coffee?'
'No, thanks. I suppose being a liberated woman you expect me to help wash up?'
'I'll let you off tonight,' she replied, trying to keep her voice light. 'I expect you'd like to unpack. I've cleared out some drawers and part of the wardrobe for you. You don't seem to have .brought very much?' she added on a questioning note.
'No, I only had the time to bring a few things to last me until I got round to sorting everything out. Where's the bedroom?'
'Through there, and the bathroom's next door.' Sara turned hastily away so that he couldn't see the flush that had come to her cheeks. He was so calm and emotionless, almost as if he handled this kind of situation all the time. And perhaps he did, she thought cynically as she began to wash the dishes. Which was just as well, because she hadn't the faintest idea how to go about things.
'Finished?' Alex came back conveniently just as she was hanging up the tea-towel. 'Let's go to bed, then, shall we? You can have the bathroom first, if you like?' He spoke quite matter-of-factly, his face expressionless, and didn't seem to hear Sara when she choked.
'But—but it's hardly ten o'clock,' she managed to stammer. 'Surely you don't want to go yet?’
'Well, it is what I came here for,' he pointed out reasonably. 'And besides I have a full day tomorrow!'
'Yes. Yes, of course.’ Rather numbly Sara went to the bedroom to undress and put on a white towelling robe before going into the bathroom. When she came out he was in the bedroom and she quickly turned her back while he went to take his turn in the bathroom. She put on her most seductive white nightdress and negligee. There hadn't been time to buy a new one and she had changed her mind a dozen times, especially about the colour, before deciding which one to wear. Switching on the bedside lamps, she turned .off the main light and then sat in front of the big round mirror on her dressing table while she brushed her hair with a trembling hand. Her reflection stared back at her, the brown eyes wide and dark in her pale face.
It was at that precise moment that she knew with utter certainty that she couldn't go through with it. If Alex had been loving and affectionate, .if he'd taken her in his arms and kissed her as he had before… But he was being so cold-blooded and—and businesslike about the whole thing. She couldn't do it, not like this.
Alex came out of the bathroom whistling and wearing a dressing-gown. Sara suddenly remembered that he never wore pyjamas. It's rather dark i» here, isn't it?' He turned on the main light again and strolled over to the bed, 'What time do you like to get up?' he asked casually as he picked up an alarm clock he'd brought with him. 'I usually set mine for six-thirty.'
"That—that will do fine,’ she said unsteadily.
'Good.' He began to undo the dressing-gown and Sara hastily glued her eyes to the floor. 'Aren't you ready.?' he asked, and when she dared to raise her, eyes she saw that he was sitting propped up against the pillows, his hands behind his head, watching her, the muscles in his shoulders standing out and making her realise just how much stronger than her he must be.
Tremblingly she got to her feet. 'Alex, I—I——'
His eyes appraised her, slowly, appreciatively: 'Come here,' he ordered.
Slowly she walked to the other side of the bed. "There's—there's something I have to tell you,' she began, determined to go on. but terrified of what he might do when she told him she'd changed her mind, especially when things had got this far.
Misunderstanding what she was going to say, he gave a twisted grin. 'Sara, this is no time for confessions from your murky past. I don't give a damn what you did before you met me. It's here and now that I'm concerned with.' He lunged forward and caught her wrist, pulling her down on to the bed and putting his weight across her. "The time for talking's over, my sweet.'
His hand began to undo the negligee; she felt the smooth hardness of his chest against her skin and then she plunged wildly away from him. 'No! Alex, please!' But he stilt had hold of her wrist.
‘What's the matter?' His eyes narrowed. 'Don't try and play games with me, Sara, or I'll teach you some you didn't even know existed.'
'No, it's just…' Panic-stricken, she tried to think of something that would pacify him, make him let go of her. That it was no use appealing to him was more than obvious. 'It's just the lights. Please let me turn them off.'
Looking at her quizzically, he said, 'Not shy, are you?"
She hung her head, not letting him see her eyes. 'Yes, a little.'
He gave an amused laugh. 'I usually like to see what I'm getting. But okay, go ahead. Maybe you'll loosen up more in the dark.'
As soon as he let go her wrist, Sara walked as calmly as she could to the light switch by the door. The second she had switched it off she shot through the door and into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her, and turni
ng the key in the lock. She leant against it, her heart beating wildly, her nerves at screaming point as she waited to find out what he would do. Supposing he burst open the door? Sara began to shake with fright at the thought.
His knuckles rapped peremptorily on the panel behind her head. 'I told you I don't like playing games, Sara. Now open the door and come on out.'
She turned and raised her voice to speak to him. 'It isn't a game, Alex. I'm sorry, but I changed my mind.'
'You did what? Have you gone off your head? You can't invite a man to live with you and get halfway into bed and then calmly tell him you've changed your mind!'
'Oh, Alex, please try to understand. I can't—not like this.'
'Are you coming out of there or do I have to break the door down and get you? Is that what your crazy mixed-up psyche wants? To be raped?' Even through the thickness of the door she could hear the savage menace in his voice.
'If you try it I'll lean out of the window and scream until the neighbours come.'
She heard him swear and then say grimly, 'What the hell are you trying to pull?'
'Nothing. I just realised that I'd made a mistake. I don't want to live with you after all,' she answered tremulously.
'You certainly picked a damnable time to find out! Look, Sara,' his voice became softer, 'why don't you come out and we'll talk it over. I won't even touch you unless you want me to.'
Like hell! she muttered to herself; 'No, I'm not coming out. Will you please just go away and leave me alone?'
His voice hardened again. 'You'll have to come out some time. Or do you intend to spend the whole night in there?' he asked sarcastically.
'If I �have to.’ She slid down to the floor, leaning the side of her head against the door. 'I'm sorry,' she said again. 'I know it's all my fault and you have every right to be angry, but please go away.'
There was a short silence and then she heard him move, go into the bedroom. A few minutes later he was back and again rapped on the door. 'Come on out.'
'No!’ Her voice rose hysterically. I told you I'm not…'
Tor heaven's sake, woman,’ his voice interrupted her, 'look through the keyhole!'
Slowly she obeyed, taking out the key to see him standing a few feet away in the full glare of the sitting-room lights. He was fully dressed. Sara stared, uncertain what to do.
Alex must have guessed her thoughts because he said derisively, 'You're quite safe. You have nothing to fear from me after this.' .
Reluctantly she stood up and unlocked the door. When she opened it he didn't move, just looked at her, his eyes and face contemptuous. 'What a coward you are, Sara! Afraid to commit yourself to marriage and even more afraid to share even a part of yourself. Well, I don't want anything from you that you can't give willingly and happily. You've told yourself so often that you don't need a man that you're too full of inhibitions even to go to bed with one. Why, Sara? Because you're too terrified of losing one iota of your precious freedom? Or is it because you know deep down that that's really what you want? To give yourself utterly to a man and let him have complete mastery of you. But I'm not going to hang around and let you make a fool out of me again. We've tried your terms and they didn't work. So now it has to be my way or nothing.’
Alex took his wallet from an inside pocket and extracted a card. 'This is the address of my flat.' He held it out to her, but she didn't move to take it. His mouth twisted and he dropped it on to a nearby table. "When you decide what you want to do you can contact me and I'll let you know whether or not I'm still interested.'
He waited for her to speak, but when she didn't he gave her a scathing look that seemed to shrivel her inside, then he picked up his holdall and other belongings and let himself out of her flat, out of her life.
CHAPTER EIGHT
It was hard -to pretend that everything was as it had been before, but Sara tried hard over the next few weeks to convince herself that the even tenor of her life hadn't been broken beyond repair. She went to work and did her job as usual, and did it so efficiently that no one guessed her heart wasn't in it any more. The flat she put back to normal, replacing the clothes she had cleared out to make room for Alex's things, filling the gaps and wishing that she could fill the emptiness inside her as easily. The card he had left stayed on the table for some time until she resolutely picked it up and threw it in the waste paper basket.
But then she remembered that he had paid for Nicky's wedding reception. Being indebted to him was the last thing she wanted, so she fished the card out again and wrote him a stiff little note asking how much the reception had cost and also what she owed him for her share of the expenses on their never-to-be-forgotten Journey to the Lake District.
A few days later she received a terse letter written in a thick, firm hand saying that the reception was part of his wedding present to Nicky and Richard, and that she owed him nothing for the journey. 'The lesson I learned was cheap at the price,' he finished caustically. If he hadn't added that last sentence Sara might have let it go, but it made her see red, so she wrote out a cheque that she thought would more than cover the amount adequately—and which took a large lump out of her savings—and sent it to him. The cheque came back by return post—torn into pieces. Going to her bank, Sara drew out four hundred pounds in ten-pound notes and sent them to him by registered post so that he would have no option but to accept the money. When she came home from work a couple of days later the registered envelope was lying on the doormat and had evidently been delivered by hand. Tremblingly she picked it up, the knowledge that he had been there matter.' And it had Alex's initials, so he must have got forty ten-pound notes—all torn in half!
There was also a typed note: ‘Mr Brandon requests that you will cease bothering him further with this matter.' And it had Alex's initial, so he must have got his secretary to type it.
She left it then, afraid that if she took, it arty further he might come round and face her. The notes took ages to stick together and then she had to go round to the bank and explain that there'd been an accident and could they please take the notes back and pay them into her account.
May passed into June, but the wanner weather did little to cheer her; she found herself immune to the sun, the flowers in the parks and the excited discussions on holidays that went on around her in the office. Now that she no longer had Nicky to consider, ‘he could have taken her holidays when she liked, but she felt no enthusiasm to make any arrangements even when she brought home lots of travel brochures from a travel agent's. The glossy hotels with their saunas and swimming pools only made her feel more than ever alone.
She made no move to have Nicky's legacy transferred to her; it was early days yet and if she found that the marriage was a good and lasting one she could always change her mind. But she heard nothing from her sister until almost six weeks after the wedding when Nicky phoned her at the flat one evening.
'We've got a bed-sitter now,’ Nicky told her, her voice rather reserved. 'It's in Hampstead. We—we wondered if you'd like to come and have dinner with us one evening?' The invitation was hesitantly given, but Sara had no hesitation in accepting; more than anything else she wanted to be friends again with Nicky.
It was a beautiful evening when she drove out to Hampstead the following week, the deep gold of the setting sun reflecting dazzlingly on windows and shop fronts. It had been a hot day and she was wearing a thin, embroidered Greek-style shirt over a layered cotton skirt. In her lunch hour she had bought a bottle of wine and a potted plant, and these now reposed on the back seat as her contribution to the meal. She was unfamiliar with Hampstead and had to stop a couple of times to consult her A-Z guide, so was a little late in palling up in front of the four-storeyed row of terraced houses where Nicky and Richard's bed-sitter was situated. The hall was rather dingy and smelt strongly of cooked cabbage. Peering at the fly-blown list of tenants, Sara found that the newly weds were living on the top floor. Giving a slight groan, she began to climb the many flights of stairs, her footst
eps noisy on the thin, holey carpet. Panting, she reached the top and rapped on the left-hand door behind which she could hear the sound of musk and voices.
After a moment Richard opened the door and smiled rather shyly at her behind his spectacles. 'Hallo, Sara. I'm glad you could come.' He stood aside and ushered her in. 'Welcome to our humble abode,'
And it was humble, as Sara saw at a glance. The room was quite large, but it seemed to be cluttered with furniture; a double bed pushed into a corner, a massive old-fashioned wardrobe and dressing-table, and over by the dormer window a small table with four odd chairs round it. It was also set for four people, and it was only because of the few seconds’ warning that this gave her that Sara was able to keep some sort of control over her features fast. Nicky came out of the tiny kitchen with Alex dose behind her'. He was wearing a tan suede jacket-and trousers, and he looked very big and out of place. His expression didn't change when he saw her; he had evidently known she was coming.
'I didn't know this was going to be a party,' Sara remarked, keeping her voice light.
Alex's eyes challenged hers, daring her not to walk out or make a scene. Sara gazed back at .him, not sure whether she could stand a whole evening in his dangerous company, the events of their last meeting too dose and too strong. '
Puzzled, Nicky looked from one to the other of them'
'Sara?' she said tentatively.
Sara blinked. 'Nicky, how are you? You're looking very well. These are for you,' she added, holding out the plant and wine.
Nicky gave a gurgle of laughter. 'We'll all get drunk tonight by the look of it. Alex brought a couple of bottles as well.'
Following her into the minute kitchen that was little more than a large cupboard, Sara watched as she placed the bottle of wine with the others in a gaily-coloured bucket of cold water. Marriage suited her, she realised, for Nicky looked very happy and somehow more mature, and she had lost quite a lot of her puppy fat already—probably by running up and down all those flights of stairs.
Sally Wentworth - Liberated Lady Page 14