Silver

by Penny Jordan

  One of his biggest problems was going to be getting Thérèse to accept that he couldn’t spend Christmas with her, but luckily, before he could broach the subject, she told him that she had been summoned home by her father in order to spend Christmas with her family.

  Wrinkling her nose at him, she said wryly, ‘I suppose he wants to read me another lecture, poor darling… he’s so strict and uptight, it just isn’t true. He’s dying for me to get married and produce lots and lots of little Catholic grandchildren…’ She gave a deep, throaty laugh, her hand caressing Charles’s bare thigh, sliding upwards to torment his flesh.

  ‘It won’t be for long, though, darling… I should be back well before the New Year…’

  She laughed as he caught hold of her, taking her nipple between his teeth and savaging it roughly in the way he knew aroused her.

  On their way home James and Geraldine Frances stopped off in Geneva, ostensibly for James to hand over to her her Christmas present, which was a case holding her mother’s jewels, but in reality so that he could visit a specialist whom his own doctor had recommended to him.

  It was just as he himself had known. The disease was slowly advancing… taking hold… Over the months there had been small signs. His brain was usually as alert as ever, but sometimes he suffered attacks of confusion and panic, even more terrifying in their way than the realisation that neither his eyesight nor his co-ordination were all they had once been…

  ‘You’re a very fit man,’ the specialist told him, ‘in many ways far more healthy than most men of your age. Because of that, it will probably be some time before your condition starts to become noticeable. When it does…’ James shuddered inwardly. There was no point in hoping for a miracle.

  That night he told Geraldine Frances that if it was still what she wanted he was prepared to announce her engagement to Charles on her next birthday.

  She was ecstatic. They had been travelling on her eighteenth birthday when the engagement should have been announced, and she had despaired that they would ever return home to make her and Charles’s news official.

  As they flew into London James acknowledged his bitter sense of failure. All he could pray for now was that Charles might have had a change of heart… or that he would do something so spectacularly damaging to the image Geraldine Frances had of him that the scales would fall from her eyes and she herself would break free of her enchantment.

  If that happened, it would bring problems of its own, problems to which he had been giving a great deal of thought. As yet he had found no solution to them, or at least, not one that would be acceptable to his daughter, but the gut feeling he had that Charles would somehow or other contrive to destroy everything that Rothwell was would not go away. Better to pay some unknown man to impregnate his daughter with the son she needed to keep Charles from inheriting after her than to allow Charles to marry her, but that could only happen if she chose it of her own accord, if she was driven to it by the recognition of what Charles really was and of how impossible it would be to allow him any kind of control over Rothwell. Women were rarely as logical and far-sighted in these things as men, James mused, especially women like Geraldine Frances.

  As the plane landed James acknowledged that, even in his wildest flights of fancy, such an outcome was impossible.

  Charles was far too clever to make the kind of mistake that would lead to Geraldine Frances’s becoming disillusioned with him and rejecting him.

  Charles delayed his arrival at Rothwell until as late on Christmas Eve as possible. Geraldine Frances waited up to welcome him, and the moment he stepped into the hallway and saw her, his gorge rose.

  She hadn’t changed, unless it was to become even more gross than ever.

  He fended her off quickly as she approached him, yawning and complaining that he was exhausted.

  Geraldine Frances had been waiting for him all day, her excitement dimming to anxiety as the hours passed; and now, swiftly, that anxiety turned into aching despair and disappointment. She had longed for him so much… wanted him so much—spent endless nights imagining how it would feel to be held in his arms.

  He was as handsome as ever, even more so than she had remembered, if that was possible, his hair and skin still the same warm gold. So why was it that for a moment his image seemed to dull and tarnish?

  Charles saw his mistake and quickly retrieved it, taking hold of her hands, ignoring the soft unpleasantness of her almost boneless flesh.

  ‘Forgive me, my love. Hardly a romantic reunion, I know, but I’m so damned tired… I didn’t think you’d be wonderful enough to wait up for me…’ He gave her his special smile, that blend of humour and coaxing that was so effective. ‘Will you hate me for ever if I go straight to bed?’

  Geraldine Frances thought about the special supper she had ordered, the bottle of her father’s best burgundy that was open and breathing in the small sitting-room… she thought about the news she had for him, the excitement with which she had planned telling him that they could be formally engaged; and then she quelled her disappointment as childish and rather silly, responding to Charles’s smile and saying with an attempt at light-heartedness, ‘Only because you’re going there without me…’

  Thank God! Charles thought, but said instead, ‘Ah, don’t tempt me… Your father seems determined to keep us apart…’

  He was already walking towards the stairs, but Geraldine Frances followed him eagerly.

  ‘Not any more,’ she told him excitedly, halting him. ‘Oh, Charles, isn’t it wonderful? Daddy says we can get engaged officially on my next birthday.’

  Concealing his expression from her, Charles reminded himself that it wasn’t Geraldine Frances he was marrying, it was Rothwell… Rothwell. As always, the thought of losing the house and everything it represented acted on him like a goad, and he felt a resurgence of his old fear that somehow or other his uncle would contrive to wrest it from him. That mustn’t be allowed to happen.

  Turning round, he took hold of Geraldine Frances’s hands again and, lifting them to his mouth, said thickly, ‘My darling, that’s wonderful news… wonderful.’

  And with that Geraldine Frances had to be satisfied, because Charles had already adroitly released himself and was heading upstairs.

  Why, when he had called her his darling, and accepted her announcement with every evidence of real pleasure, did she somehow feel cheated… anxious… fearful almost?

  Telling herself she was being a fool, she lumbered miserably after him, heading for her own room.

  Christmas Day was very much as Charles had known it would be. His gift to Geraldine Frances was the triple strand of pearls which had once been his mother’s.

  She received it bleakly, trying not to think of the long hours she herself had spent looking for just the right gift… In the end she had chosen not one but several.

  In Paris there had been the irresistible Fabergé egg covered in gold and ornamented with lapis lazuli in exactly the same deep, dense shade of blue as Charles’s eyes.

  In New York she had commissioned for him an expensive set of luggage, and in Switzerland, following a hunch of her own, she had bought him shares in a newly formed computer technology company, which she personally thought was going to go places.

  James’s mouth tightened as he looked at the pearls and recognised that they had not even been restrung. They had been his parents’ twenty-first birthday gift to his sister. He thought bitterly of his daughter’s open adoration of Charles and reflected that it would have cost little for him to buy Geraldine Frances something which genuinely was from himself, instead of simply handing her his mother’s pearls.

  Geraldine Frances affected to be thrilled. In reality she was deeply upset. Charles knew how she felt about his mother, and yet he had given her her pearls. She knew as she closed the leather case that she would never wear them.

  Her father gave her a portfolio of shares and her eyes had gleamed with anticipation as she read through them. All of them were companie
s they had discussed during the year, most of them small and as yet unprofitable, but she and her father knew their real value.

  He also gave her a pair of diamond earrings, solitaire studs to wear in the ears she had had pierced in New York.

  She didn’t put them on immediately. As always, she was acutely conscious of her physical appearance. She was wearing one of the dresses she had had made to order, a dull, thick tweed that did nothing for her colouring but which she believed, in its plainness, helped not to draw attention to her fatness.

  Surreptitiously during the last year she had started dieting, but with limited success. The heavy business lunches and dinners… the hunger pangs that attacked her almost constantly… the misery she felt at being away from Charles so much… her own inner despair over the way she looked. She longed for some reassurance… for Charles to look at her and know what she was feeling, to tell her lovingly that it was she, the person whom he was marrying, whom he loved, and not the outer casing of bulging flesh.

  Her initial bright, fierce pleasure in their love had become tainted and weakened by insecurity. She so rarely saw Charles, and when she did there was a distance between them, a lack of opportunity for any real intimacy, a suffocating awareness on her part of how different they were physically… She had gone from delirious awe and joy that Charles, so male, so handsome, so almost godlike, should by some miracle choose to love her, to a sick fear that one day Charles would look at her and see her not as he did now, with his eyes dazzled by their love, but as others saw her: bloated, unattractive, unappealing physically in every way.

  Oddly, in some ways when she was with him her self-doubts were increased rather than reduced. She longed for Charles to banish her fears, to take her in his arms, to show her physically and passionately that he wanted her.

  And at the same time she was vaguely ashamed of such feelings, of the desires that tormented her at night when she was alone, of the intense, secret excitement she felt at the thought of Charles wanting her, touching her.

  Tomorrow Charles would be leaving. He had pressing business to attend to in London before joining her father for several days’ hunting with the Belvoir. Because her dislike of hunting was so well known to him, the host, with the best motives no doubt, had not included her in the invitation.

  She looked at Charles; he was leafing through a copy of Tatler. As she watched, he frowned suddenly, studying one of the pages closely.

  Curiosity took her to his side. He was studying a group photograph taken at the kind of social party Geraldine Frances most disliked, but she hid this as she said lightly, ‘They look as though they’re having fun. Anyone you know?’

  Charles heard the jealousy in her voice and hid his triumph. In point of fact he knew all of them, but cleverly he picked out from among the soft, pretty if rather vacuous faces of the girls the one who he knew would soothe Geraldine Frances’s fears. Now was not the time to let her know how plain and dull he found her.

  ‘Yes, as a matter of fact. I know this girl. Helen Cartwright. She and I were at school together. She’s getting quite a name for herself as a photographer.’

  There was a note in his voice that Geraldine Frances couldn’t quite analyse, but one look at the face of the girl in the photograph was enough to reassure her that she was no beauty and, besides, she had more important things to worry about than one of Charles’s old schoolfriends.

  Tonight was her last chance to be alone with Charles. She knew which was his room, of course. The colour came and went in her face at the thought of what she was contemplating.

  But why not? They were practically formally engaged now, and they would not be having a long engagement. Other couples in their situation made love… and, since Charles had already said that he could not spare the time to come skiing with them, it would be another two months at least before she was able to see him again.

  Buoyed up by the excitement-cum-dread of what she was planning, Geraldine Frances went to bed early. Charles watched her go with well-hidden relief.

  He was going to marry her—nothing could change his determination on that point; he had to marry her to get Rothwell—but that didn’t alter the fact that physically he found her revolting. He would have to bed her, of course, and not just to make the marriage legal. He wanted sons, the sons for Rothwell that fate had denied his uncle. As he said goodnight to her, smiling falsely into her eyes, lifting her hand to his mouth and feeling her tremble as he touched the hot, moist flesh of her wrist, he hoped cynically that she would prove fertile.

  Geraldine Frances, with no idea of what was really in his mind, left the room, her heart thudding with excitement. There had been such promise, such pleasure in his eyes as they had said goodnight. Her excitement rose…

  She had left her door open slightly so that she would hear Charles when he walked down the corridor to his own bedroom.

  She waited for five minutes after he had closed the door behind him, her stomach muscles clenched with tension. She was undressed, wearing one of the plain cotton nightdresses that had been part of her school uniform. Over it she pulled on an ancient dressing-gown that had been her father’s, refusing to look at herself in the Adam pier glass as she passed it, knowing too well what she would see. She couldn’t bear to see that billowing, fat, plain reflection, not now when she needed all her faith, all her frail belief in her inward femininity to give her the courage she needed.

  When she walked into his bedroom Charles was just picking up the telephone receiver. He saw her and dropped it, a look of acute disgust crossing his face and transfixing her where she stood just inside the door.

  She started to tremble with shock, knowing sickeningly that she had done the wrong thing.

  Tears filled her eyes. She turned for the door, stumbling over the hem of her dressing-gown, and Charles, who had realised a fraction too late just what he was betraying, resisted his body’s physical command to let her go, quelling its inner revulsion as he rushed to the door ahead of her and slammed it shut.

  She stared at him, and he forced his features not to betray what he was feeling. God, but she was ugly. The thought of touching her… those layers of fat tissue…

  ‘Geraldine, darling… My God, what are you doing here?’

  Geraldine Frances stopped and looked at him, desperately wanting to believe the soft promise of that ‘darling’, willing herself to forget the look she had seen on his face, trembling agitatedly as she tried to think of a logical explanation and, finding none, having to say humbly, and awkwardly, ‘I wanted to be with you. I hardly ever see you. We’re never alone together; I thought…’

  Her face betrayed her, as she looked past him and at the bed.

  Charles felt himself starting to sweat. Dear God, not now… he couldn’t face that now… But neither could he think of alienating her.

  Controlling his loathing, he gave a small soft groan, but didn’t touch her, swinging round so that he wouldn’t have to look at her, bowing his head in a gesture of mock defeat.

  ‘Darling, I know, I know… I want you, too… I want to be with you, to hold you… but you must see that it isn’t possible…’ He heard her move behind him and knew that he must convince her, that he couldn’t let her leave the room until he had. Stifling all his inner revulsion, he turned round and took her in his arms. She was almost his height now, and when she leaned her head on his shoulder he felt smothered by the weight of her.

  ‘You must see how it is. If I made love to you now, I could easily make you pregnant…’ He felt the shudder run through her and ached to push her away. Unlike James, he couldn’t see her inner beauty and gentleness, nor did he want to. He saw only the outer image… an image that revolted him.

  ‘My darling, much as I want you to stay, you must see that that isn’t possible.’

  She ached inside for him; being so close to him was making her feel dizzy with the pain of it. She moved against him, instinctively seeking relief from the tormenting sensation in her breasts.

  Charl
es tensed. Oh, God… he wasn’t going to be able to persuade her… He couldn’t touch her now, not now… he needed time…

  ‘Gerry, please… don’t make this hard for me…’ His voice grated and for a moment it was almost like listening to his mother.

  She frowned and looked up at him, knowing that what he was saying made sense, but longing to stay with him.

  ‘We can’t take that kind of risk,’ he told her softly. ‘You must realise that…’

  She looked at him… a dogged look of determination… an aching look of need.

  And then, ducking her head, she said huskily, ‘But we needn’t do that, need we? I mean… there are other ways… other things… We don’t actually have to…’ The frustration driving her welled up inside her, and she clung to him desperately, ‘Charles, please let me stay. I want you so much. I love you so much.’

  Of course she did, he thought mirthlessly. He had made sure of that fact, but why on earth couldn’t the fat fool see that the very last thing he wanted was her gross physical presence? And yet one part of him was reminding him that it would do no harm to make absolutely sure of her, to make sure of James, who he knew quite well would have moved heaven and earth to stop the marriage if it weren’t for the need for Geraldine Frances to produce sons. It was one thing for him to feel sure that no man would even think of trying to take her from him; the world was full of unscrupulous, hungry people, and it only needed one of them to realise what marriage to Geraldine Frances would give him.

  He ground his teeth, his eyes narrowing on Geraldine Frances’s flushed, unhappy face. If he got her pregnant now, he wouldn’t have to touch her again for nine months, and James would be down on his knees begging him to marry her… He liked the idea of that… he liked it very much… He began to smile… He could even torment them both a little by pretending to have second thoughts… by…

  Geraldine Frances saw the look he was giving her and couldn’t interpret it. Her heart started to pound. He was going to let her stay after all. And then someone rapped on the heavy door, and she heard her father say calmly, ‘Charles, is Geraldine Frances here? I wanted to have a word with her. I’m leaving for the City early in the morning…’