The Japanese Screen

by Anne Mather

  ‘No, it was mine. You were quite right to refuse my invitation. It would have been a—dangerous situation, and you were right to avoid it. I am sorry.’

  Susannah’s eyes were wide as she stared at him, and with an exclamation, he said: ‘Come! I will take you home. I have an early start in the morning.’

  Susannah hung back now. His words chilled her more than his attitude all evening had done, even though they were spoken with warmth and gentleness. Without moving, she looked all about her and said: ‘What an attractive building this is. I’ve never been here before. Does it accommodate a lot of people?’

  ‘A reasonable number,’ he remarked dryly. ‘And surely you know that as well as I do.’

  ‘Yes.’ Susannah still lingered. ‘You said you had a suite. What does that consist of?’

  Fernando ran his palm down his shirt front, unconsciously drawing Susannah’s attention to the fact that he wore nothing beneath it. ‘A suite can consist of many rooms or only a few,’ he replied briefly.

  ‘Does your suite have many rooms?’

  Fernando adjusted the knot of his tie. ‘Does it matter?’ Then, as her eyes clouded, he added: ‘I have a small suite—two bedrooms, a lounge, a bathroom. Does that satisfy you?’

  Susannah looked down at her hands. ‘Could I see it?’

  There was another pregnant silence, and finally Fernando said: ‘I don’t think that would be a very good idea, Susannah,’ in terse tones.

  She looked up. ‘You sound—angry. Why?’

  Fernando took her arm impatiently. ‘It’s time we were leaving, Susannah. Come along. I’ll take you home.’

  Susannah made no further demur. Her small spurt of recklessness had been extinguished, and she wished she had not been so foolish. In the car, she stole a surreptitious glance at her watch. Was it only a quarter to ten? It seemed much longer than ninety minutes since she had been waiting so eagerly for him to come.

  He drove away from the hotel and along the Embankment. Susannah could see the shadows on the river, and on the opposite bank there were the lights of the Festival Hall. The muted sounds of a ship’s siren sounded mournfully across the water and she shivered. Its sad lament suited her mood. Since leaving the hotel Fernando had said nothing at all, and she was overpoweringly aware that she had quickly destroyed his momentary sense of contrition at the boorishness of his behaviour. After tonight she would probably never see him again, and she couldn’t help but think that he would be glad to be rid of her.

  In a very short time they were drawing up in Lorrimer Terrace and Susannah waited impatiently for the car to stop so that she could get out. Misery cloaked her like an almost physical presence, and she couldn’t understand why this man, whom she had known less than a week, should have become so important to her. He didn’t care about her, that was obvious. He might find her physically attractive, that she had to accept, as witness his suggestion that they should dine in his suite that evening; but it had been a fleeting attraction which had not survived more than an hour in her company, and she burned with humiliation when she recalled how afterwards she had practically invited him to take advantage of her.

  As soon as the car drew to a halt, she reached for the door handle, but was stayed when he said quietly: ‘Just one minute, Susannah. Please.’

  She sat back in her seat, withdrawing her hand inside her cape again, glad of its concealing folds to hide her trembling nervousness. Her companion switched off the engine, and sat in silence for a few moments. Then he half turned towards her, one arm along the back of her seat.

  ‘I can’t let you go like this,’ he said, in a low voice. ‘I know I’ve been a brute this evening, but—’ He shook his head. ‘I ought not to have invited you out again. It’s all my fault. I’m sorry if I’ve made you miserable.’

  Susannah’s throat felt choked. The last thing she had expected was for him to apologize to her. ‘That—that’s all right,’ she managed. ‘I—I shouldn’t have accepted.’

  ‘Oh, Susannah!’ He looked across at her in the gloom, and she could see the glitter of his eyes. ‘What can I say? What can I do? I’m leaving tomorrow. There is no time to show you that I mean what I say.’

  ‘Oh, please…’ Susannah was near to tears, and they would be the final humiliation. ‘Thank—thank you for a pleasant evening—oh!’

  She broke off on a gasp as she felt his fingers against her neck, under the weight of her hair. They moved with a certain sureness to her throat, releasing the catch of her cape so that he could slide it from her shoulders. Then he moved a little closer, uttering an imprecation in his own language at the barrier caused by the gear console.

  Susannah remained perfectly still, not looking at him, not making any attempt to encourage or discourage him. She didn’t believe this was really happening. Even when she felt the heat of his body through the silk of his shirt that brushed her arm, she told herself that she was exaggerating his nearness. She couldn’t really feel the pressure of his thigh against hers, or smell the faint aroma of shaving lotion and tobacco that clung to his clothes. And yet it seemed real enough, and there was another scent, too—the warm male scent of his body that seemed to be reaching out and enveloping her in a warm and intimate atmosphere. She trembled. She had to be sensible about this. Just because she was experiencing the most wanton desires towards this man she must not imagine that he felt the same way towards her.

  ‘Susannah.’ His breath warmed her ear. ‘Look at me. Please—look at me.’

  She looked. He was closer. She wasn’t imagining it. When she turned her face, his was only inches away. The light from the street lamp outside showed the naked hunger in his eyes, the sensual curve of his mouth. With one hand he cupped her cheek, his thumb moving probingly against her lips, caressing them, parting them. Then he bent his head and put his mouth to those parted lips, kissing her gently, exploringly, until something seemed to fuse between them and he could no longer deny his need of her. His hand slid down to her throat, and the pressure of his mouth became an urgent force that impelled her back against the soft upholstery.

  ‘Te deseo, Susannah, de mi alma,’ he whispered, releasing her lips to seek the hollow between her breasts. ‘Forgive me, forgive me, but I cannot help myself—’

  Susannah’s hands came up around his neck, curling into the thick vitality of his hair. She drew his mouth back to hers, returning his kisses with innocent abandon, and not until he dragged himself away from her to slump heavily over the steering wheel did she realize that she had been behaving in a manner tantamount to begging him to make love to her.

  With shaking fingers she gathered up her cape, fumbled the door open and stumbled out, slamming it behind her. Then she ran across the pavement and up the steps and into the Castana house. She could hear sounds of music from the drawing-room, but there was no one about, and she ran weakly up the stairs, not stopping until she had reached the safety of her own room. Then she alowed the cape to fall to the floor and threw herself upon her bed to sob uncontrollably…

  On Sunday morning, she felt distinctly unwell. Her head throbbed from the amount of weeping she had done the night before, and her eyes were red-rimmed and haggard. She deliberately applied a heavy make-up before meeting the rest of the household, but that didn’t stop Lucie Castana from commenting on her appearance.

  ‘Were you so late yesterday evening, señorita?’ she exclaimed, examining Susannah’s dark-ringed eyes. ‘My husband thought he heard you come in soon after ten o’clock.’

  ‘He did.’ Susannah made a casual gesture. ‘I—I didn’t sleep very well, señora. I—I think I may have a cold coming on.’

  Lucie Castana raised her dark eyebrows. ‘Then I trust you will not breathe your germs all over Eduardo, señorita, or indeed over the rest of us. You must stay in your room if you feel unwell.’

  ‘Yes, señora.’ Susannah was resigned. In truth that was exactly what she wanted to do.

  ‘In any case,’ continued her employer, ‘my husband and I are taki
ng Eduardo out again today. As Carlos is so soon to leave this country, we have friends to visit—to whom we must bid adios for the present.’

  ‘Yes, señora.’

  ‘We will be leaving in an hour or so. If you are fit when we return home, I shall expect you to put Eduardo to bed as usual, señorita.’

  ‘Yes, señora. ’

  The house was quiet after the Castanas had left. The servants, the cook-housekeeper and the maid, had been given the rest of the day off, too, and Susannah had been left a cold lunch in the dining-room should she require it. Mrs. Travers, the cook-housekeeper, left soon after her employers. She had a sister in Ealing, and Susannah speculated that she was probably going there. Eleanor, the maid, left a little later, but as Susannah knew very little about her, she had no idea where she might be going. She supposed in other circumstances she could have been friendly with Eleanor, who was about her own age, but a governess’s position in a household was still a nebulous one, accepted neither upstairs nor downstairs, as it were.

  At about eleven o’clock she went down to the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee. Now that she was alone she felt restless and every aircraft that passed overhead reminded her that this morning Fernando would be on a flight for Madrid. She wondered what part of Spain he came from—where he lived—what he did. She would never know now…

  Forcing herself to think about other things, she began considering the Castanas’ eventual move to New York. Did she want to go with them, or would she prefer to remain in England and take another post? Taking another post would mean getting used to a new routine, making friends with a new child, or children, settling into another household. Was that what she wanted to do? Or ought she to take the advice of her best friend and think seriously of settling down and getting married?

  Thinking of her friend, Susannah moved towards the hall and the telephone. She and Margaret French had been at college together, but Margaret had barely arrived in London and settled into a job before meeting a fellow teacher and getting married. Now she had a two-year-old baby daughter, Toni, and Susannah was as welcome in their home in Kennington as any of their own relatives. She decided to telephone Margaret and ask whether they would give her lunch if she came over. She knew without conceit they’d be delighted. It was almost three weeks since she had seen them.

  But even as she reached for the receiver the phone began to ring and she stifled a startled cry before answering it. She gave the number and was about to tell whoever was calling that Señor and Señora Castana were away for the day when a deep masculine voice said: ‘Susannah! Susannah, is that you?’

  Her legs gave way under her and she sought the support of a polished chest nearby. ‘Fernando!’ she breathed in astonishment, unconscious of the fact that she was using his Christian name. ‘But—where are you?’

  ‘Susannah! Oh, it is good to hear your voice again.’

  ‘Fernan—I mean—’ She halted uncertainly as the initial shock of hearing his voice began to wear off. ‘Señor Cuevas—where are you calling from?’

  ‘It was Fernando a moment ago,’ he reproved her gently. ‘I much prefer that.’

  She was glad he could not witness her embarrassment. ‘But how can you be telephoning me? I—I thought you would have been on the plane by now.’

  There was a moment’s silence and she thought at first that he had rung off, but then he said quietly: ‘My flight left over an hour ago, Susannah.’

  Susannah gasped, ‘What?’

  ‘You heard what I said.’ He sounded suddenly impatient. ‘But now—how was I lucky enough to reach you immediately? Where are your employers?’

  ‘Señor and Señora Castana have gone out for the day. They won’t be back until early this evening.’

  ‘Is that so?’ He sounded very interested. ‘And you are free?’

  ‘I—I suppose so.’

  ‘You sound—reluctant.’ There was concern in his voice now. ‘Do you not wish to see me again after last night?’

  ‘Oh—Fernando!’ She heaved a tremulous sigh. ‘Of course I want to see you. What do you want me to do?’

  He hesitated. ‘I am telephoning from my hotel. I will get a taxi and be with you in—say—fifteen minutes?’

  ‘All right.’

  After she had hung up the receiver she sat for a moment staring down at her hands and then she became galvanized into action. She rushed up the stairs to her room and went straight to look at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. The thick make-up she had applied looked caked on her face and with an exclamation she ran some water into the basin and scrubbed it all off with a face-cloth. Then she looked at herself again, still most dissatisfied with what she could see. Whatever would he think of her? She looked an absolute hag!

  Turning from the mirror, she went into her bedroom and stripped off the skirt and blouse she had been wearing. She took a pair of lemon slacks from her wardrobe and tugged them on, and then added a cream chunky sweater. She looked a pale reflection of herself, and taking the brush she tugged it viciously through her hair, dispersing some of her frustration in the deliberate masochism.

  The doorbell rang as she was applying a blue eyeshadow and she glanced quickly at her watch. It was only between ten and twelve minutes since his call. It couldn’t be Fernando already—could it?

  She was by no means ready to face him yet. Her cheeks were still without make-up of any kind and she had planned to apply a light rouge to give herself some artificial colour. She sighed. Whoever it was, it couldn’t be for her. They would probably go away if she didn’t answer.

  The bell rang again, insistently, as though someone was deliberately keeping their finger pressed on it. She would have to go. After all, it could be something important. She put down the brush she had been using, and with a resigned gesture at her reflection went out of her bedroom and down the stairs to the hall. By now whoever was calling was growing impatient and the bell was ringing continuously.

  She unlocked the heavy door and opened it cautiously, stepping back in amazement when she saw who it was. ‘Fernando!’ she gasped. ‘How did you get here so soon?’

  He came in without speaking, his eyes eloquent with feeling. He closed the door behind him and then stood looking at her. Susannah felt terrible. What must he be thinking? She had not even finished brushing her hair.

  ‘I—I’m sorry—’ she began. ‘I—I thought it must be someone else—’

  And then she was in his arms, her hands were imprisoned against his chest, and his mouth sought the parted sweetness of hers. She had never been so close to him before. In the car they had been separated by the gear console and only the upper part of his body had been against her. But now she could feel the lean strength of him, and as his hands slid down to her hips to bring her closer she was made irresistibly aware of his stirring masculinity. His jacket was fastened at first, but he unbuttoned it and she yielded against him, sliding her arms around his waist and making little involuntary sounds of pleasure.

  At last he propelled her away from him, holding her at arm’s length even though she protested and tried to wriggle close to him again. ‘Susannah,’ he muttered urgently. ‘We must be sensible about this. I want to make love to you very much, but not in the hall of the house of Carlos Castana!’

  Susannah came to her senses in an agony of self-consciousness. ‘I—of course,’ she said jerkily, and he released her. She put up her hands to her hair. ‘I—I must look an absolute mess. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and tidy up—’ Fernando drew out his cheroots and lit one with unsteady fingers. ‘There is no urgency,’ he observed dryly. ‘And you do not look a mess. You look muy deseable—very desirable!’ He touched the dark rings beneath her eyes. ‘But you did not sleep well last night, did you?’

  She half turned away, not wanting his compassion. ‘Not very well.’

  He caught her wrist. ‘I, also, did not sleep well.’

  ‘Oh!’ She made a helpless gesture. ‘I’m sorry. I—I’ll just go and finish making up—�
��

  He uttered an expletive, and his fingers tightly perceptibly on her wrist. ‘Forget about your appearance,’ he commanded quietly. ‘No importa! Only you are important.’

  ‘Am I?’ She sounded unconvinced.

  ‘Condenacion! Of course you are!’ He sighed, looking at her almost diffidently. ‘Susannah, I am finding this very hard, but I must explain to you why I could not leave this morning—’

  ‘There’s no need.’

  ‘There’s every need.’ His jaw was taut. ‘Susannah, no matter what you may think of me, I am not in the habit of indulging in promiscuous affairs. I have never done this sort of thing before—’

  ‘Oh, please—’

  ‘No. Let me continue. I have to tell you why I behaved as I did last night and again this morning—’

  ‘Fernando, forget it—’

  ‘No, I will not forget it!’ He scowled and she thought how alien he suddenly appeared. ‘Susannah, you are deliberately misunderstanding me. I do not know what you expect me to say, but in my country a man does not defile a young, unmarried woman without feeling the need for self-recrimination.’

  Susannah didn’t know how to answer him. She didn’t know what he was trying to say, it was true, but somehow she imagined he was about to destroy all the joy she had felt when first he telephoned her.

  ‘Fernando, things are different in England. I—girls—people kiss one another without there having to be a federal case about it—’

  ‘Be silent!’ He sounded furious. ‘Is that how you regard this—this lovemaking between us? Kissing? Have you let other men hold you as I held you? Let other men kiss you as I kissed you?’

  Susannah’s breathing was constricted. ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘Then what are you saying?’

  She dragged herself away from him, rubbing her wrist as the sudden releasing of his fingers allowed the blood to course tinglingly down into her hand. ‘I—I just don’t want you to feel that you have to apologize for something that was no more your fault than mine,’ she murmured bitterly.