The Temptation Trap

by Catherine George

  Ewen looked as though she’d punched him in the stomach. ‘If you’d said it was, yes,’ he said slowly. ‘Of course I’d have believed you.’

  ‘You don’t sound totally convinced.’

  ‘I am.’ Ewen looked down at her broodingly. ‘I wish you were pregnant.’

  ‘Do you indeed? I don’t,’ she snapped.

  ‘It would make things simpler at this point.’

  ‘How?’

  His eyes glittered suddenly. ‘If you were I’d drag you home with me before you had time to draw breath.’

  She glared at him, incensed. ‘I’d like to see you try!’

  Ewen’s arms went out, then dropped as she backed away. ‘Rosanna. Don’t. I want you so much I—’

  ‘Yes. I know. You told me that before.’ She ignored the trembling in her midriff at the urgency in his voice. ‘But you still can’t really handle the fact that David came first. Admit it.’

  ‘You’re a teacher. You could help me learn very quickly,’ he said, advancing on her with an unsettling air of purpose.

  ‘But I’m not going to,’ she retorted, scrambling back out of reach.

  ‘Why do you refuse to admit we’re made for each other?’ he said, and caught her as she dodged behind the sofa, holding her by the wrists. ‘You can’t get away from me in here, my girl, so listen. I was going to do everything by the book tonight. I even dressed up in a suit for the occasion, prepared to go down on one knee, determined to bring you round to my way of thinking and persuade you to move in with me—tonight, preferably.’

  Rosanna had been ready to throw herself in his arms and say yes at one point, but his closing sentence stifled her assent before she made it. Marriage, as usual, was not Ewen’s intention. Savage disappointment made her want to lash out at him with her fists, but she had better weapons in her armoury than that.

  ‘But, Ewen,’ she said very distinctly, ‘last time we met you couldn’t cope with being my second choice. Wouldn’t even hear me out when I tried to explain—’

  ‘I’ve changed my mind,’ he said harshly, his eyes glittering down into hers. ‘I don’t care any more. I want you, Rosanna. And, unless you’re the greatest actress outside of Hollywood, you feel the same about me. I just won’t let you condemn us both to the separation Rose imposed on Harry.’

  She glared up into the slanted eyes with open hostility. ‘And that, really, is what it’s all about, isn’t it? A sort of reincarnation of Harry and Rose’s doomed love affair. Would you be so hot to get me in your bed if I didn’t look like her? Of course not,’ she said scornfully. ‘It’s been down to Rose right from the first. You want to re-enact her romance with Harry. Well, I’m not Rose. I’m me, Rosanna, and I’m turning your offer down, Ewen Fraser. I refuse to share my life with a ghost.’

  Ewen released her hands, his face inscrutable. ‘Is that final?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said flatly.

  He took dark-lensed aviator glasses from his pocket and put them on. ‘If it wasn’t for this pain in my head I might stay and try to argue you out of it. But throwing up on your carpet is hardly likely to further my cause. May I ring for a taxi?’

  ‘You don’t need to. They cruise down this road all the time.’

  ‘I won’t trouble you any longer, then.’

  Rosanna walked to the door and opened it. ‘Goodbye, Ewen.’

  He paused, his expression hidden behind the dark lenses. ‘Just one thing, Rosanna. Why is there a pregnancy test kit in your bathroom?’

  ‘It’s absolutely no business of yours,’ she said coldly, ‘but it belongs to someone who rented my room here for a while. She wasn’t obliged to use it, as it happens. But thank you for reminding me. I’ll get rid of it before the next man in my life gets any wrong ideas.’

  ‘All right, put your knife away,’ said Ewen malevolently, and brushed past her. At the foot of the stairs he turned before she could go inside. ‘Good luck with the new job.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Rosanna, and slammed the door in his face. She waited, tense, for a moment, but there was no knock, and at last she threw herself down on the sofa, fists clenched, determined not to cry. She was shedding no more tears over Ewen Fraser. Or any other man.

  It took Rosanna no time at all to discover that pride was a very poor bedfellow. The glow from her holiday disappeared so quickly she was obliged to tell her mother a little of what had happened to allay Henrietta Carey’s worry.

  ‘It’s quite simple, really,’ she said without emotion. ‘I look so much like Rose he can’t quite detach me from the girl his uncle loved. I’m sure he just wants to re-enact their love affair all over again. With me.’

  ‘That sounds very unlikely, darling,’ said her mother, frowning. ‘Is that why he came to see you?’

  Rosanna nodded. ‘At first he couldn’t cope because I couldn’t bring myself to break with David—’

  ‘Which is understandable!’

  ‘Yes. I know. But then he cast his scruples aside, ready to forget that.’

  ‘Why?’

  Rosanna looked away. ‘Because he wants me to live with him and be his love, and all that.’

  Mrs Carey looked thoughtful. ‘And you didn’t fancy that?’

  Rosanna smiled humourlessly. ‘Actually I did. A lot. But on a different kind of basis. I’m a conventional girl at heart, Mother. Funny, old-fashioned creature that I am. Marriage or nothing, that’s me. Ewen’s idea was a bit less permanent.’

  ‘Are you in love with him?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Rosanna drearily. ‘I thought my trip to Australia might have cured me of that. But two seconds in Mr Fraser’s company the other night put me right on that score.’

  ‘You’re mad,’ said Mrs Carey with conviction. ‘If you want him, why on earth give him his marching orders?’

  ‘That, Mother, darling, is a question I’ve been asking myself ever since.’

  ‘Swallow your pride and ring him.’

  Rosanna took her mother’s advice and rang the Chelsea number first thing next morning. The phone was picked up after the second ring, but it was Mrs Barker who answered.

  ‘Hello, Mrs B. This is Rosanna.’

  ‘Hello, dear, how are you? Mr Fraser’s not here. He’s in the country again. You can ring him at the cottage.’

  She would do better than that, thought Rosanna. She would borrow her mother’s car for the drive to Long Ashley, and beard the literary lion in his den. She needed to talk to Ewen face to face.

  She left next morning, a little after rush hour. The weather was fine and the traffic no heavier than usual, but Rosanna was no fan of motorway travel. She was glad to turn off eventually into the maze of minor roads she’d marked in red on the map. The journey seemed endless, but just as she felt certain she was lost she found the narrow, tree-lined road she remembered so well. But when the familiar stone wall came into view Rosanna drove past Ewen’s cottage, unable to bring herself to turn into his driveway and park, uninvited. She found a layby a little further on and left the car in the shade of an overhanging tree.

  The walk back was longer than it looked, and Rosanna felt very hot and untidy by the time she reached the cottage. For a moment she was tempted to turn tail and drive straight back to London, but now she was so near at last the need to see Ewen overcame any misgivings. She opened the gate and walked slowly up the path, her shoes crunching on the gravel. After she knocked on the door there was no sound for a while, then at last, just as she was about to leave, she heard footsteps on the stairs. But when the door opened, to Rosanna’s horror it was Sally Todd who peered round it, hair in wild disarray, one of Ewen’s robes clutched round her naked body.

  ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said rudely, holding the door wider. ‘Are you expected?’

  ‘No,’ said Rosanna with effort. ‘Hello, Sally. Is Mr Fraser in?’

  The girl eyed her with open hostility. ‘I’ll just pop back to his bedroom and tell him you’re here, shall I?’

  Rosanna felt so sick she almost tu
rned tail and ran while the girl went back upstairs. But pride exerted iron control over her rebelling stomach and she stood her ground, determined not to give Ewen the satisfaction of running away like a coward. She heard Sally talking, and a muffled male voice answering, then the girl reappeared, strutting down the stairs in crude imitation of a model on a catwalk.

  Sally smiled triumphantly, and stretched her hands up to hold her hair away from her neck, displaying a small purple bruise of unmistakable provenance. She winked lewdly. ‘He says he’s too busy to see you, miss.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE Beaumont School for Girls was less than two miles away from Rosanna’s flat, and from the first she made it a habit to run to school every morning, and back again in the evening, regardless of the weather. She threw herself into the task of teaching English to the girls in the junior school, and agreed readily when asked to help put on the school play, supervise school outings, or perform any other extra task that came her way. She ran hard and worked hard, socialised as much as possible, tired herself out in the process. But never enough to erase the memory of the degrading episode at Ewen Fraser’s cottage.

  To keep the memory mint-fresh, the paperback version of Savage Dawn came out not long after Rosanna started work at the school, and every bookshop she passed displayed Ewen’s best-selling novel, sometimes with accompanying blown-up portraits of the author. But fate had worse tricks up her sleeve. One memorable weekend Rosanna was browsing in a West End department store with Louise when she spotted Ewen Fraser seated at a table signing books for the people lining up to buy them. She stopped dead, bumping into Louise, who protested loudly enough for Ewen to look up and see them. He shot to his feet, but Rosanna turned blindly and made for the entrance at such speed, Louise was panting when she caught up with her outside.

  ‘Steady on, Ro! I’m not as fit as you. Gosh, your author’s even tastier than he looks in his photographs. 166 No wonder you’re pining. Are you sure you want to run away?’

  ‘Dead certain,’ said Rosanna tersely, and hurried Louise away just in case Ewen came in pursuit. This wasn’t fair, she thought wildly, in misery which deepened when it became obvious that Ewen had no intention of coming after her.

  ‘I wish you’d tell me what happened at his cottage,’ panted Louise crossly.

  ‘No way.’

  ‘Did he try and rape you or something?’

  ‘Certainly not. Let’s change the subject. Please!’

  Louise shrugged philosophically, squeezed Rosanna’s hand, and nobly made no protest when her friend wanted to go straight home.

  Rosanna was in the bath later when Louise came in to announce there was a phone call from someone at the school.

  ‘Did you say I’d ring back?’

  ‘I didn’t dare. They’re holding on.’

  Rosanna wrapped herself in a towel and went along the hall to pick up the phone.

  ‘Rosanna, don’t hang up,’ said Ewen peremptorily.

  She made a choked sound of disgust and slammed the receiver down, then fled back to the bathroom, colliding with Louise in the hall.

  ‘You knew who it was!’ she accused, eyes flashing.

  ‘Yes, I did.’ Louise pulled a face. ‘But Ro, you’re so miserable underneath. After seeing Ewen Fraser in the flesh today I couldn’t hang up on the man.’

  ‘Next time—if there is a next time—tell him I never, ever want to talk to him again. Understood?’

  ‘All right, all right, keep your hair on.’

  Next day, when John Carey was dozing in front of a football match on television after lunch, his wife beckoned Rosanna into the kitchen.

  ‘Ewen rang last night, darling.’

  ‘What did he want?’ said Rosanna stonily.

  ‘He said he wanted to bring back Rose’s belongings. But what he really wanted was to ask about you.’ Mrs Carey gave a troubled sigh. ‘Obviously something so bad happened at his cottage that day you can’t even talk about it. And I feel responsible, because I urged you to get in touch with him. I interfered, and I’m sorry.’

  Rosanna put her arms round her mother, leaning her head on the familiar, loved shoulder. ‘It wasn’t your fault.’

  ‘Ewen saw you yesterday, I gather.’

  ‘He was signing books. I was shopping with Louise.’

  ‘And,’ went on Mrs Carey, ‘he rang you last night.’

  ‘I wouldn’t speak to him.’

  ‘So he said. Darling, I know what I just said about interfering, but just this once, couldn’t you at least talk to Ewen?’

  Rosanna detached herself, and looked her mother in the eye. ‘No. Not this once. Not ever.’

  Before long Rosanna was beginning to feel part of the school, and had made new friends on the staff. Little by little life grew more bearable, partly because after two more unsuccessful attempts to speak to her there had been no more calls from Ewen.

  ‘And thank heaven for that,’ said Louise with feeling. ‘I hate playing pig-in-the-middle. But I think you’re mad not to let him talk to you once, at least.’

  Rosanna was in the staffroom drinking coffee with some of her colleagues at break one morning when Jane Rowlands, the history teacher, came in, eyes sparkling with excitement, to announce that the entire staff was required in the hall the following Friday evening for an extra lecture.

  There was a concerted groan.

  ‘The good news,’ went on Jane, undeterred, ‘is the identity of the speaker.’

  ‘Not something to do with computers again!’ said someone bitterly.

  ‘No. Much better. It’s Ewen Fraser, the author of that novel on the Zulu Wars. He was on one of those television talk shows last week. Very nice. The Upper Sixth will froth at the mouth when they clap eyes on him!’

  Rosanna ran back to the flat in half her usual time later that afternoon, wishing she could break a leg, even get mugged in the park. All the way home she dreamed up excuses about stomach upsets, migraines, flu, vital appointments elsewhere—anything to avoid attending Ewen Fraser’s lecture. But by the time she reached home she was resigned to the inevitable. She was still new at the job, and if the principal expected the new junior English teacher at the lecture with the rest of the staff there was no help for it. She would just have to bite the bullet and turn up.

  On the evening of the lecture Rosanna asked one of the prefects to reserve a seat for her in the back row, and just before seven took her place just as Dr Marian Lonsdale, a handsome woman in her forties, resplendent tonight in her academic robes, walked onto the stage. She told the girls how lucky they were to have the pleasure of listening to Mr Ewen Fraser, especially those girls doing History and English A levels.

  Ewen Fraser walked on stage to a round of applause which grew wild with enthusiasm once the older girls caught sight of him. His hair was newly cut for once, by someone who was good at the job, too, thought Rosanna, her heart contracting. He wore a formal dark suit and gleaming white shirt, and smiled at the assembled audience in a way which won them over instantly. Ewen, thought Rosanna bitterly, was having his usual effect on her sex, young and old. She slid down in her seat, glad she was hidden behind some of the taller members of the Upper Sixth.

  Ewen was just as good a speaker as Rosanna expected. He spoke easily and fluently, with very little reference to notes, giving the girls a clear idea of his way of writing a book, the research and long, disciplined hours of labour it involved. From there he went on to the history aspect of his writing, and discussed the far-reaching influences of war. His audience sat rapt, with no fidgeting for the entire time he spoke, and after an enthusiastic ovation at the end of his speech several girls asked eager, intelligent questions which Ewen answered with obvious pleasure in their interest.

  Dr Lonsdale brought the session to a close by asking the head of the English department to offer a vote of thanks to Mr Fraser, then she took him off to her study for refreshments.

  Rosanna was on duty with Jane Rowlands afterwards, to wait while the girls we
re collected by their parents.

  ‘Right,’ said Jane, when the last car had gone. ‘Let’s have some coffee. I told them to keep some buns for us.’

  ‘I ought to get home—’ began Rosanna.

  ‘I’ll give you a lift in the car,’ said Jane firmly. ‘Come on.’

  Rosanna found her colleagues discussing Ewen Fraser with loud animation in the staffroom. She drank down two cups of coffee in quick succession, but the caffeine merely put her more on edge. She longed to get away, but couldn’t see how to escape without giving offence to kind, friendly Jane.

  None of the teaching staff seemed in any hurry to get home, and Rosanna discovered why when Dr Lonsdale appeared soon after, ushering Ewen Fraser before her. Introductions were made all round, Ewen perfectly at ease in the room full of women.

  ‘And here’s Rosanna Carey, our newest recruit to the English department,’ said Dr Lonsdale eventually, a twinkle in her eye. ‘But of course you know that already, Mr Fraser.’ She turned to the room at large. ‘Rosanna was lucky enough to help Mr Fraser with his research during the summer.’

  ‘Hello again,’ said Ewen pleasantly as all eyes turned on the new junior English teacher. ‘How are you, Rosanna?’

  She smiled brightly. ‘Very well, thank you. I enjoyed your lecture.’

  ‘I’m glad.’ He moved on to meet Jane, and a few minutes later left with the principal and Rosanna was thrown to the lions as her colleagues clustered round, demanding information about her work for the author.

  ‘You kept that pretty quiet, Miss Dark Horse!’ accused Jane on the way home.

  ‘Dr Lonsdale knew because she asked how I’d been filling in my time since my last teaching job. But I felt I was too much the new girl to go in for name-dropping with the rest of you.’ Rosanna shrugged casually. ‘Anyway, I did my part of the work in London, while he wrote in his place in the country.’