'Nonsense!' she said now. 'Of course you must go away. It's ten days yet, and I'll be perfectly all right by then. And I'll have Iseult.'
'If she comes! You've heard nothing.'
'Whether she comes or not,' Briony said firmly, 'You are going to see your great-aunt and that's that!'
A few days after the auction sale, the month of November dragged itself into a dreary close, the worsening weather adding to Briony's despondency. Long-range forecasts predicted a harsh winter ahead. Iseult had not written again. Briony had telephoned Jean-Luc's Paris office several times, but without success, though she'd left messages asking Jean-Luc to return her call. Promilla had gone up to London again to make final arrangements with Ramamurthie Pati for her trip to Karachi. Briony was alone. The shop was closed for the night.
Normally, under such circumstances, she would have taken the opportunity to go up to the studio and do some painting. But the only work she had in hand at present was that of the manor house, and she couldn't bear to look at it. She'd eaten a very frugal evening meal, sharing most of it with the cats—her appetite seemed to have disappeared—and was just clearing away her solitary cup and plate when the doorbell rang. She was tempted not to answer its summons, for there was no one she wanted to see. It was probably carol singers anyway, she thought. They started coming earlier and earlier every year, and she certainly wasn't in a festive mood.
Whoever it was didn't intend to go away. The bell continued to ring, and then the letter flap was rattled violently. Briony did something foreign to her nature— she swore. She started for the door, promising herself she would give the persistent intruders a piece of her mind.
It wasn't Christmas carollers. Her stomach turned with a sickening rush. It was Teale who stood framed in the doorway against the light of a street-lamp. His raincoat was damp and his hair slicked wetly about his head. Icy rain fell steadily, splashing into already existing puddles, streaming from overworked gutterings, running in rivulets down the steep High Street. Taken aback, the words she'd intended to say frozen on her lips, Briony stood immobilised.
'Well, can I come in?' Teale enquired impatiently. 'It's pouring cats and dogs out here!'
Still wordless, reluctantly she stood aside, and he strode past her, bringing a rush of cold air with him. Only then did she realise that he carried a large cardboard box.
'Your goods from the auction,' he explained as he preceded her through the kitchen and into the living-room. 'They were delivered with mine.'
Normally, the arrival of her purchases would have excited Briony's enthusiasm. Normally, she couldn't wait to unpack and see if the items were as choice as they'd seemed in the auction room. Not this time.
'I'm sorry you've been put to the trouble of bringing them round,' said Briony stiffly. She stood watching him with dispirited eyes as he deposited his load on a chair, then straightened and turned to face her.
'It was no trouble. Besides, I wanted to see you.'
'Oh!' she said unhelpfully. She couldn't think why he should want to see her. She remained standing. She wasn't going to ask him to sit down, either. She didn't want him to stay.
'Sally had her pups the night before last. I wondered—when they're old enough to leave her—whether you'd like to have one?'
As a constant reminder of you? she thought painfully. She shook her head. 'I don't think that would be a very good idea.'
'I thought you said you'd like a dog. Or is it,' ironically, 'because the offer comes from me?' He'd shown this uncanny knack of reading her mind before.
'No,' she denied. 'I just don't have time—with the shop and everything—to housetrain a pup.'
'Suppose I were to train it before I handed it over?'
Briony hesitated. She had fallen in love with Sally, and she would dearly have liked one of the Springer spaniel's pups. But again she shook her head.
'No. Thank you very much all the same. And thank you for bringing these over.' She indicated the box. 'Promilla's been dying to see what I bought.' She was patently waiting for him to leave, and Teale made as if to do so. But then he stopped.
'Is Promilla in?'
She could have said yes, but she disliked lies. She shook her head.
'Then perhaps we could talk?'
'I don't think…'
'Oh, look, Briony,' his tone was coaxing, 'this is ridiculous, isn't it?' For an instant, a sparkle of hope and love shone in her blue eyes, but his next words extinguished it. 'We're both of us adults. We're responsible to no one else. We want each other. At least, I haven't stopped wanting you.' Her treacherous heart leaped at the admission, and colour flamed into her cheeks. 'What's the point in denying ourselves the satisfaction we can bring each other?' Briony began to shake her head again, but Teale asked, 'Can't we at least sit down and discuss it in a civilised fashion?'
'We've already discussed it,' she told him wearily, 'the other night. Nothing's changed since then.'
'What is it with you?' he demanded. 'Are you afraid?'
'I'm not afraid,' she told him, her voice trembling with pain. 'Would I be holding out for marriage if I were afraid of it? Not that it's any of your business. But I won't have you implying… I told you my reasons. Now, will you please go?' Briony knew she was starting a headache. She had all the classic symptoms: the frontal pain, the aching neck, the feeling of nausea.
'I want you, but I won't be blackmailed into marriage,' he warned.
Briony exploded with anger.
'Have I asked you to marry me?' she demanded. 'All I've done is to ask you to go away, told you I'm not interested in your—your "proposition". I know marriage wouldn't suit you, you've made that plain enough. Besides, you're much too concerned about your selfish physical needs to see the beauty and fulfilment that come from loving someone in every possible way. Marriage is beautiful.' Her voice broke on the words and her head throbbed more painfully than before.
'So is physical love!' he retorted. 'If you'd only let me show you…' And, as she retreated a step or two, 'Damn you, Briony!' He reached her in a couple of long strides. His hands were twin vises on her shoulders. 'I will show you! How can you deny us both this?' His descending mouth was inescapable. There was time for only one quick protesting breath before his lips were bruising hers. Then his arms encircled her, crushing her against his chest, constricting her lungs so that she felt faint and dizzy.
He went on kissing her with an aching need, while his hands slid down her spine, forcing her to arch her body towards him. Hard, muscular thighs forced intimate pressure upon her and she trembled beneath his onslaught. Passion leapt between them. Murmuring incoherently, Briony began to return his kisses. But Teale's hunger seemed unappeased by her feverish response, and a roughness in his touch spoke of feelings getting beyond control.
He pushed her down on to the couch, the imprisoning weight and warmth of his body a potent intoxicant. Slowly, sensually, his long sensitive fingers explored the warm curves of her body, coaxing reactions from her that sent shock-waves through her so that she was frantic with her need of him. He was trembling against her and she was aware of the thrusting demand of his masculinity. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. Yet something held her back from asking him to make love to her.
When at last he released her mouth, relaxing his hold, she lay weakly in his arms, too drained and defenceless to attempt to break free. Her eyes were pleading as she looked up at him, pleading for his love, his understanding. But his were cold steel, hard, emotionless.
'Do you realise now something of what you're denying us?' he demanded. 'Oh, don't worry, Briony,' he bit out as she parted her lips to speak, 'I'm not going to force you. In fact, I'm leaving now, unless…' His expression was still hard, as he went on, 'unless you're going to ask me to stay?'
Weakly, she shook her head. She wouldn't compromise her beliefs.
'Very well!' He released her completely, stood up and strode towards the door.
Forced to follow him in order to lock up, Briony held her so
bs strangled in her throat. Dignity begged her not to let him see her in tears. Without another glance or another word, Teale vanished into the cold, wet night. Then there was only pain.
CHAPTER EIGHT
'When are you going to finish the painting of Teale's house?' Rhoda asked two or three weeks later in a lull between serving customers. 'I've just seen it standing with its face to the wall. Is there something wrong with it?'
Briony shrugged. 'No, there's nothing wrong. I've just gone off it for the time being.' It was true. The painting had been going very well. She had imbued her work with the love she felt for the house, but more especially for its owner. And it was the first time she could remember leaving a picture unfinished. Always, even when a painting was going badly, she would struggle to pull it together, maintaining that you could learn even from your mistakes.
'Or you've gone off my brother—for the time being?' Rhoda probed shrewdly. 'You haven't been seeing him lately, have you? And he hasn't mentioned your name for some while.'
Briony looked pensively at her, wondering whether to confide in Teale's sister. She was missing having Promilla to talk to. Her friend had left ten days ago for Karachi. But no, she decided, she didn't know Rhoda well enough. Besides, the other woman's loyalty to her brother might prompt her to take up cudgels in his defence.
'Teale and I have had a disagreement,' she admitted at last.
'Well, Christmas is the season of goodwill,' Rhoda said cheerfully. 'I'm sure you'll make it up then. I did warn you he's a bear when he's in the middle of a book. I should just let him get it out of his system if I were you.' A little later, she asked, 'What are you doing for the two days?'
'Oh, nothing special. I think Christmas is an overrated occasion. The true meaning of it has been swamped in commercialism.'
Rhoda looked at her speculatively.
'That doesn't sound like you, Briony. I'd have put you down as a traditionalist, even a sentimentalist. I know what it is!' she exclaimed. 'You're putting on a brave face, aren't you, because you're going to be on your own?' She seemed struck by a sudden thought. 'Why not spend Christmas at the cottage with us? You know Libby, and you could meet the rest of the children. They'll be home till the New Year. Matthew and I would love to have you.'
'Oh, no!' Briony protested hastily. 'I mean,' she faltered, 'thank you, but Christmas is a family time. I wouldn't dream of intruding. Besides,' as if it were the clincher, 'I couldn't leave the cats.'
But Rhoda was not that easily put off.
'Bring them with you. We've no indoor pets to upset them. They'd soon settle down.'
'Oh, dear,' Briony sighed. 'It's very kind of you. You're making it very difficult to refuse. But look, Rhoda, I'll have to be perfectly honest with you. You're bound to want Teale and little Scott with you over the holiday, and I just don't want to see Teale again—ever. Don't ask me why, please,' she begged.
'I see,' Rhoda said slowly. 'I'm sorry. I didn't realise it was that serious. I thought things were going well between you two nowadays. You seemed to be so ideal for him. You have your own interests. You understand his need to write, the way he needs to shut himself off sometimes.'
Briony winced. Rhoda's words were so close to the arguments Teale himself had put forward. She was glad when the arrival of several customers put an end to their conversation.
'But I will finish the painting,' she promised.
When Bob Daish had callously broken off their engagement, following the death of Briony's father, the pain of his defection had eased to a dull ache within a very short time. But although there had never been any real relationship between her and Teale, the hurt of not seeing him, of knowing he could never be hers, was as tormentingly real, weeks after their last encounter, as it had ever been.
Briony had spent Christmas alone, after all. Jean-Luc had finally telephoned, but only to tell her that Iseult was promised to his parents in Provence for the whole of the school holidays, but that she would contact Briony in the New Year.
In the event, apart from her aching heart, the solitary holiday hadn't proved to be too much of an ordeal. Briony had always possessed great reserves of self-sufficiency. She watched and enjoyed the seasonal programmes on television, caught up on her reading and determinedly made herself finish the painting of the manor house. The sooner it was finished, the sooner she could put the house and its owner out of her mind. Rhoda could deliver it to her brother. There would be no reason then for Briony to see him again.
The Blue Unicorn was open for the only three working days between Christmas and the New Year, though Briony did not expect much trade. After the Christmas expenditure, there would be little money to spare for arts and crafts, and in any case most people would be travelling to the big towns for the sales. The weather was growing progressively colder and since Christmas Eve spasmodic snowfalls had whitened the High Street.
'Don't bother to come in next week,' Briony had told Rhoda when they'd closed on Christmas Eve. 'You don't want to drive over here in this weather. I can manage for three days.'
But Rhoda had turned up, despite deteriorating conditions.
'I came on the bus,' she said when Briony remonstrated with her. 'Besides, I wanted to see if you were all right. I kept thinking about you over the holiday, here all on your own.' She went on, 'You could have come to us, as it turned out. Teale had a telephone call from his ex-mother-in-law on Christmas morning. Charlene's worse. And with no trains running he had to drive up to London. One thing I'm determined on, if he's not back by New Year's Eve, you're seeing the New Year in with us. Next year is going to be a big one for Matthew, with his exhibition coming up, and it's all owing to you. We must celebrate.'
'I'd like that,' Briony admitted.
'Have you heard from Promilla at all?' Rhoda asked as they took down Christmas decorations and renewed the counter and window displays.
'There was a letter in this morning's post.' Briony fished it out of her skirt pocket and handed it to Rhoda. 'It must have got held up with all the extra mail. She had a very warm welcome from her great-aunt. You'll see she also speaks glowingly of the Patis' son. "Rama", she calls him. They seem to be getting on very well. I wouldn't be at all surprised to see a romance develop there.'
'How would it affect you if it did?' Rhoda asked as she returned the letter. 'If Promilla were to get married, and to a Londoner?'
Briony had been thinking about that herself since the letter had arrived.
'I'd miss Prom, of course,' she said sadly. 'But I'd like to see her happily married. I think that's what she's always wanted. She loves children and she's a very motherly person. I could just about afford to buy her out, I suppose. Or we might decide to sell up.' She shrugged a little despondently. 'I'd be sorry in a way. I like Devon enormously, but I think maybe the time's come for me to move on.'
'You wouldn't be running away from that brother of mine by any chance?'
'Hardly "running away"!' Briony said wryly. 'He's not exactly "chasing" me, is he?' Her words revealed more to the other woman than she realised. 'But yes, I think it might be a good idea to get right away.'
'I know this is all speculation as yet,' Rhoda said slowly, 'but I do like to plan ahead. If Promilla were by any chance to get married, I'd like to come in with you— that's if you did decide to stay here. But perhaps you wouldn't care to have a new partner?'
'Oh, but I would!' Briony smiled warmly at her. 'I can't think of anything I'd like more.' Then her smile faded. 'If I were to stay.'
'Well,' Rhoda said, 'whatever happens, don't decide anything in a hurry. You never know, things might work out between you and Teale yet.'
Briony wished she could share Rhoda's optimism.
'So you're definitely coming tonight?' Rhoda pressed Briony at closing time on New Year's Eve.
'Yes, please, if you're sure Teale won't…'
'We haven't heard a word from him, neither has Mrs Barrett. I think you're safe enough.' Rhoda sighed. 'But I do wish Teale would come to his senses.'
Under pressure, Briony had told Teale's sister of his determination never to marry again. 'You're so right for him.'
'Nothing formal, but definitely party-wear,' had been Rhoda's parting instructions. Thoughtfully, Briony surveyed her wardrobe. Bearing in mind that whatever she wore must be covered by warm outer clothing for the drive to the cottage, she settled on a stylish but comfortable turquoise-blue trouser suit in a silky material that clung lovingly to her slender figure and shimmered with the wearer's every move. Matching shoes went in a bag, to be donned on arrival. Her hair had grown considerably in the last few months, and she brushed her copper curls vigorously, tying them back at the nape of her neck with a broad black velvet ribbon. In the daytime she wore very little make-up, but for evening she applied a smooth, transparent film of foundation. Blue shadow emphasised the colour of her eyes and complemented her outfit. A blue silk purse in an oriental fabric completed the ensemble.
Briony had never been vain, but she was moderately satisfied with her appearance. Ruefully, she caught herself thinking that, if Teale were to have been present, she would have agonised far more over what to wear. But then, she reminded herself, if he'd been there, she wouldn't be going.
She checked that the cats had plenty of food and water and clean litter, then locked up carefully. The car, which had been standing idle for several days, needed a little persuasion to start, but before long she was on the road out of Gwinvercombe. She drove cautiously, for the steep, narrow lanes were coated with that day's fall of snow, which traffic had packed into a hard surface that glistened diamondlike in the moonlight. The sky held a promise of more snow still to come.
There were one or two cars parked outside the cottage. None of them, she was relieved to see, was a silver Rolls-Royce. If it had been, she would have turned straight round and driven home.
Matthew opened the door to her and she marvelled anew at what the prospects of success had done for his appearance and self-confidence.
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