by Liz Fielding
‘Melita. It means honey,’ he told her.
‘The old Roman name for Malta? How pretty.’
‘I call her Melly.’
Sophie rubbed the pony’s nose. ‘Can you ride her yet?’
‘I can ride anything,’ he said proudly.
Startled, she turned to Chay. ‘Tom’s only had Melly a few days,’ he said, coming up to them and offering the pony a knob of sugar on the flat of his hand. ‘She’s a birthday present from his grandmother.’ He gave some sugar to Tom, and, taking her arm, led her along the yard to introduce her to the other horses.
‘You have a mother?’ she murmured in mocking disbelief, as she made a fuss of a gentle-mouthed grey mare.
‘You thought, perhaps, that I sprang full-grown from dragon’s teeth?’
‘I don’t think anything,’ she said, preferring to keep her thoughts to herself. ‘But I know you are quite prepared to keep me here against my will.’
‘I’m glad you realise that. Although, as a prison, this has much to commend it.’ His gesture invited her to look around. Tom was laughing as his pony butted him with her nose, wanting more of the sugar he had in his hand. Twany could be heard, singing tunelessly as he worked in the tack-room. Around them a warm, flower-scented evening drew in.
‘“The isle is full of noises, Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not…”?’ Sophie quoted softly. Then she turned to him. ‘But it’s still a prison, Chay. No matter whether you are locked up, or simply bound to a place by memories.’ She forced herself to face him, confront the hard line of his mouth, his shaded eyes. ‘I’m sorry I asked about your wife, Chay. You must have loved her very much.’
He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The brief expression of pain that crossed his face was all the answer she needed.
Tom raced up. ‘Will you ride with us tomorrow, Sophie?’ he begged. ‘Please? She could ride Rowan, Papa.’
‘I…’ Words failed her. What could she say to the child?
Chay’s hand reached over her head to stroke the beast’s neck. ‘Do you ride?’ he asked abruptly.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But it’s…it’s been a while.’
‘Yes!’ Tom punched the air. Then rushed off to tell Twany.
Chay turned back to the bay. ‘We go out very early,’ he said. ‘We won’t wait for you.’
‘Aren’t you afraid I’ll bolt for it?’
His eyes gleamed dangerously. ‘You could try,’ he offered.
‘Why are you keeping me here? Why is it so important?’ He didn’t answer. ‘Please, Chay, let me go.’ And instinctively she laid a hand upon his arm.
His face hardened. ‘It will take more than a pair of bright eyes to move me, Sophie. I warned you.’
For a moment their eyes held. Then Tom’s insistent clamour for her attention broke through, and she let him pull her away to meet Rowan. And when she looked again Chay was striding away across the concrete yard.
So much for her determination to get away. Well, tomorrow was another day. She’d think of something. She had to. And with that promise to herself she surrendered to Tom’s enthusiasm.
‘When is your birthday, Tom?’ she asked, as they walked up the path together half an hour later.
‘On Sunday,’ he said. ‘Do you really think Papa might let me have a party?’
‘Why don’t you ask him?’
Tom pulled a doubtful face. ‘If you asked him for me,’ he suggested, ‘he might say yes.’ He tucked his hand trustingly in hers. ‘He likes you.’
Startled, she glanced down at the boy. ‘What makes you think that?’
‘He ducked you in the pool,’ Tom said confidentially. ‘You only do that to people you really like.’
She choked back her laughter at this child’s-eye-view of friendship. Then she remembered. She had ducked Chay, too.
Sophie was showing Tom the way to make waterspouts in the bath when his shrieks of laughter brought Chay to see what all the excitement was. about. His arrival coincided with a particularly tremendous whoosh of water, which erupted over the edge of the bath to splatter a pair of hand-made shoes and well-cut trousers.
‘What the devil…?’
Before she could stop him, Tom shouted, ‘Look, Papa!’ and copied her.
Sophie leapt to her feet. ‘I’m sorry—’
Chay was staring down at the bath, watching Tom’s game. ‘Matt and I used to do that. I’d forgotten.’
‘Matt?’
‘My brother.’ He glanced at her. ‘We used to compete to see who could make the biggest spouts. The mess we made…’ He shrugged. ‘Matt and I used to compete at everything.’ His gaze returned to the child in the bath. ‘Stupid.’
‘Is it? I used to compete with my sister. Without much success.’
‘Used to?’ His eyes met hers in sharp query, and she remembered that his brother was dead. ‘Not now?’
‘No. Not now,’ she said, a little shakily. ‘We grew up.’
‘That was clever of you. Matt never quite got over the fact that he was a year younger than me, the need to prove himself. I suppose I should have let him win occasionally.’
‘He would have known,’ she said. She had always known, on those rare occasions than Jennie had taken pity on her. ‘And it’s far worse.’
‘How reassuring.’ She stared at him. He was angry. What on earth had she said? ‘I’m going to change.’ He paused. ‘If you need anything tonight, Twany lives in the cottage behind the stables.’
A reminder that she was being watched? ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said abruptly. She turned to the boy in the bath. ‘Come on, Tom. The water’s getting cold. Time to get out.’
‘Ask him now, Sophie!’ Tom demanded in a loud whisper.
‘No, Tom, not now,’ she shushed him. Now was not a good time.
But it was too late; he had heard. ‘Ask me what?’ Chay demanded, turning in the doorway.
Sophie, wrapping Tom in a towel, kept her eyes firmly on the boy. ‘Tom seems to think you’ll be more likely to agree if I ask you if he can have a birthday party,’ she said quickly. Then, because this seemed to imply some criticism, she added, ‘I can’t think why. I’m sure you’ll let him have one.’
There was a long moment of silence and she finally looked up, unaware how her eyes were pleading for the child. Chay regarded her intently, the slightest frown creasing his brow. Then he turned to Tom. ‘This was your own idea?’
‘Yes,’ he said. Then, under his father’s searching gaze, he faltered. ‘Not exactly.’ Chay’s glance swivelled back to Sophie, and she flinched at the frostbitten chill that accused her. But Tom hadn’t finished. ‘Dr Paul said I should have a party, and invite Elena and Michael and little Paul and…’
For a moment Chay’s eyes continued to challenge Sophie, and for a moment she met him head-on. Then he pulled a face and turned back to Tom. No apology. Well, what did she expect?
‘All right,’ he said, holding up a hand to halt the excited flow. ‘I get the picture. So, you want a party for your birthday?’ The child nodded, almost holding his breath. ‘What kind of party?’
‘One like Uncle Matt had. Grandma told me about it. With cowboys and Indians and a barbecue,’ he said, hopping from one leg to the other as he began to believe it was going to be all right. ‘On the beach.’ He began to rattle off a list of the most desirable food, who should be invited and what games they would play, oblivious to the brief spasm of anguish that crossed his father’s face. ‘Can I, Papa? Please?’
Chay tucked down until his eyes were level with Tom’s. ‘A party means a lot of work. Who’s going to arrange all this?’
‘Sophie will,’ Tom said confidently. He turned and looked up at her. ‘You will, Sophie, won’t you?’
Chay raised his eyes to meet hers and she was surprised to discover that a glint of amusement had replaced the anger. ‘No problem, then. If Sophie is prepared to organise it, Tom, of course you can have a party,’ he said. ‘But she must decide.’
‘Yes!’ he cried, punching the air, abandoning his towel as he danced about the bathroom. ‘Yes! A party! Thank you, Sophie! Thank you, Papa!’
‘But it can’t be Sunday,’ he warned. ‘We’ll have it on Saturday.’
Tom didn’t care. He was having a party. Overwhelmed by the child’s excitement, Sophie turned helplessly to Chay as he straightened. ‘But I can’t,’ she said.
‘Can’t you?’ Chay regarded her with an expression that would have provoked a saint. ‘You tell him,’ he said. Then he turned and walked away.
Sophie took one look at Tom’s ecstatic face and knew she couldn’t do it. Between them they had her trapped, and she suddenly discovered that there was more than one way to be held prisoner. A fact, she was sure, that Chay was quite well aware of.
‘Come on, Tom,’ she said, with a trace of a sigh. ‘Let’s get you into bed.’
She left him compiling a list of friends who must be invited to his birthday party and went downstairs in search of Chay. She found him in the drawing-room. He had changed into a cream linen suit, with a deep blue shirt that seemed to reflect into his eyes, turning their depths from Arctic to Mediterranean, making it very hard to remember how angry she was. He glanced up from the drinks table.
‘Would you like something?’ he offered.
‘A gin and tonic, please,’ she said, with feeling. ‘That was a bit below the belt, Chay.’
‘Oh, quite a long way below,’ he agreed, handing her a glass, quite unperturbed by the admission. ‘But not quite as low as you rifling through my desk.’
Sophie blushed. ‘How did you know?’
‘I didn’t.’ He raised his glass. ‘But I do now.’
‘Oh!’
‘You saw Maria’s photograph.’ It wasn’t a question.
‘I was looking for my passport and car keys.’ She sipped nervously at her drink. ‘She was…very beautiful.’
‘Yes. She was certainly that.’ His eyes had gone blank. He put his glass down with a snap. ‘I suppose you saw the manuscript as well. Did you read it?’
‘No.’
‘I wish you had been as restrained when you decided to spill the beans to Poppy.’
‘Since I’m so much trouble, perhaps you should reconsider keeping me here,’ she suggested hopefully.
‘And disappoint Tom?’
She took a deep breath. ‘In that case, Chay,’ she said, ‘I freely confess to helping myself to some of your notepaper to write to my neighbour.’ She produced the letter she had written. ‘Would you post it for me? She’ll worry if I don’t let her know that I’ve been delayed.’
‘Delayed?’ He took the letter from her and glanced at the address.’ When he looked up his face was lined with suspicion. ‘What reason have you given for the… delay?’
‘I didn’t give any reasons. But she looks after my flat, feeds my cat…’
‘Really? Your cat?’ He was deeply sceptical. ‘“Don’t forget to feed Tiddles, and by the way could you send the enclosed to the Sunday—?”’
‘No!’
‘Perhaps you’d care to tell me why I should believe you?’
‘No, thank you,’ she resolutely declined his offer. ‘I don’t care to be called a liar.’
‘Maybe you could convince me that you’re not?’
‘With pleasure. Please don’t be squeamish, Chay. Just open the letter and read it for yourself,’ she instructed coldly. ‘I realise that it’s not quite in the rifling-through-desk class of prying. But you’re pretty good at the handbag variety, so reading other people’s mail shouldn’t prove so very difficult.’ Her grey eyes sparked anger, and for a moment they seemed to hang on the edge…
‘Papa?’
Chay swung around. ‘What are you doing out of bed, Tom?’ he snapped.
The boy was clutching a sheet of paper and a pencil. ‘I just wanted to ask Sophie…’
‘Ask Sophie what?’
‘Chay!’ She crossed to the boy and put her arm around him. ‘What is it?’ she asked gently.
‘I just wanted to ask you,’ he half whispered. ‘Would your friend like to come to my party?’
Sophie went white. ‘Friend?’ Chay repeated, his voice dangerously soft. ‘What friend, Tom?’
Reassured by his father’s gentle tone, Tom relaxed. ‘He came yesterday…when you were out.’
‘Did he?’ His eyes met Sophie’s over the child’s head. ‘What was his name?’ The question wasn’t addressed to Tom.
‘It was Nigel,’ she said.
‘Nigel. Of course. Put him on your list, Tom. I’d very much like to meet…Nigel.’
Tom’s face creased in concentration. ‘How do you spell that?’
‘Sophie will tell you later.’ He crossed the room and steered Tom through the door. ‘Go back to bed now.’
Still concentrating hard, the boy wandered back up the stairs. For a long time after he had gone there was silence.
‘Did you think I could just disappear and no one would worry about me?’ Sophie finally demanded, unable to bear it a moment longer.
‘Why did he assume you would be here?’
‘Where else would I be? He was waiting for me to get home. When I didn’t turn up he phoned my hotel. I wasn’t there either.’
‘So? Why didn’t you leave with him?’
Because he wouldn’t take me. He wants me to stay and have an affair with you and tell him all about it so that he can put it in some sordid magazine. What would he do if she said that? She shuddered. ‘Don’t you think I wanted to? You have my passport.’
‘You could have got a temporary travel document from the High Commission.’
‘And my camera.’
‘It must be insured.’
‘I couldn’t have left Tom,’ she said a little desperately. ‘I didn’t know about Twany…’
‘He’ll be back, then?’
She stiffened at the thought of Nigel waiting on Sunday evening. ‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘Why should he bother? I didn’t do the job—’
‘Damn you!’ He thrust the letter into his pocket. ‘I ought to have thrown you out, battered and bruised as you were.’
‘Then why didn’t you?’
‘I don’t know!’ They glared at one another with a deep and mutual antipathy. Then he took a step towards her. ‘Yes, I do,’ he said, his voice like velvet ripping as he grasped her shoulders and dragged her towards him, his mouth descending in a hard, bruising kiss.
It was as if he hated himself for being unable to resist her. As if he was punishing her for being irresistible. The surprise, the shock of it stunned her. And by the time she realised that she ought to be struggling, making some serious move to stop him, it was very nearly too late.
His hands had slipped from her shoulders to her waist, drawing her into treacherously seductive contact with his thighs, his loins. Her body was already beginning to dissolve, seduced by the warm scent of his skin, melting against him until the soft curves of her body were pressed hard against his body, and she was dangerously close to forgetting that she detested him. Close to forgetting what he had done to her. Close, but not totally lost to sanity. In a moment of blinding anger at his arrogant assumption that he could kiss her without so much as a by-your-leave, and casually reduce her to mindless jelly, she swung her right foot and kicked him, very hard, on the shin.
For a moment the tightening of his grip was the only indication that he had felt anything. Then, with a shuddering sigh, he released her abruptly and stepped back, looking down at his leg as if he couldn’t quite believe what had happened. When he looked up his eyes were leaden. ‘If you weren’t enjoying yourself, Sophie, you only had to say,’ he said.
‘Enjoying…’ Hardly able to believe her ears, she exploded. ‘Let me tell you that I’ve enjoyed a visit to the dentist more,’ she lied. ‘And, as
for telling you anything, I ask you to recall that my mouth was otherwise engaged!’
‘So it was.’ His cool fingers touched her bee-stung mouth, hot and throbbing from his cavalier treatment. ‘But for future reference, Sophie, if you simply stop kissing someone back, they usually get the message. There’s no need for violence.’
She hadn’t! She hadn’t kissed him back! How dared he suggest that she had? ‘Haven’t you got an appointment you’re anxious to keep?’ she reminded him sharply. ‘I’m sure Poppy Curzon will be far more appreciative of your caveman tactics.’
‘You may be right.’ His voice took on a dangerous edge. ‘I’ll let you know in the morning.’ With that he turned and walked from the room, and a moment later the front door closed somewhat forcefully, making her jump.
For a long breathless moment she stood there, hardly able to believe her ears. Hardly able to believe the sharp bile of jealousy that stung at her throat. ‘Poppy Curzon is welcome to you,’ she called after him, a little desperately. The hollow echo that came reverberating back to her ears that Poppy Curzon had got him was not a comfort.
She fled to the study. If the key opened the door to the second floor she would be able to lay her escape plans. But when she wrenched the drawer open, the key had gone.
‘Sophie!’ There was a sickening jolt as her fall was abruptly halted. ‘Sophie, wake up.’
She tried to speak, but the fear, the horror of it clammed her mouth, and nothing would come out. Her heart was pounding horribly and she still couldn’t believe that she was alive, that Chay was holding her close, rocking her gently, his arms about her and her cheek pressed against the smooth dark silk of his dressing-gown. ‘Wake up, now.’ His voice was insistent. ‘You’re safe.’
Safe. She lifted her head and stared up at him. ‘It was a dream, wasn’t it?’
‘More like a nightmare, to judge by the amount of noise you were making,’ he said softly.
She was trembling with the sickening sensation that still clutched at her. ‘I was falling and falling…’ She shuddered. ‘It was horrible.’
‘Do you often have nightmares?’
‘Not like that.’ Not real, screaming nightmares. Only endless exhausting dreams in which she searched hopelessly for her sister. She shuddered again. ‘Never like that.’