by Margaret Way
'Thank you, you're very kind.' She didn't mean it, of course, and her green eyes told him so.
'Aren't you going to take it off?'
'I will when you go.'
His black eyes sparkled over her. 'You're dreadfully shy, aren't you? Why are you always bothering to hide yourself from me? I know what a woman looks like.'
A kind of madness seized her and his dark face went hazy. 'That's your big trouble!' she said bitterly, and stepped out of her beautiful velvet dress, standing willowy and slender in her long silky crepe petticoat rimmed top and bottom with beige lace.
'Don't say things like that!' Paul warned in a voice that might have stopped her.
'Why not?' She whirled on him defiantly, her hair a fiery aureole about her vivid face.
'Because it's not true and I don't like it. Are you going to hold it against me for ever that I fathered an illegitimate child? I didn't love Lucia, but she loved me. What is this illegitimate anyway? Just a cruel easy word for you to use against me.'
She could feel her body trembling. His face in the overlight was pagan-like, harsh with contempt for her. 'Go to bed, you stupid little girl, I don't want to lay a hand on you.'
'And I'm glad !' Her need to hurt him as he hurt her was primitive, beyond her control. 'I couldn't bear you to touch me.'
'I know !' He looked full at her, his brilliant gaze hard and unwavering. 'Don't worry about it, I didn't marry you for your love !'
The shock of it hit her like a blow. She gave a little inarticulate moan, then she slid to the floor.
When she opened her eyes again she was resting quietly in Paul's arms.
'What happened?' he asked in a taut, subdued voice.
'I don't know! ' her dazed green eyes swept his face. 'I don't feel ill or anything.'
'You gave me a bad fright!' He lifted her in his arms and laid her down on the bed. 'I admit I wanted to hurt you―I'm sorry.'
'I'm sorry, too,' she offered gravely, still clinging to his hand. 'We've had such a lovely week, I can't think why I was so argumentative!'
'It doesn't matter,' he said quietly. 'Perhaps we've been overdoing it. I've rushed you everywhere, and I must confess you look very fragile.'
'I've loved it!' she said, and immediately a shadow crossed her face. 'Don't be angry with me, Paul. I don't hold Lucia's little ghost against you. How could I? I love your daughter already. She's incredibly sweet in a way few people are. I want to help her and protect her and see that life for her is good.' She was holding his hand against her, feeling weak and floating.
'Where is your nightgown?' he asked her.
'Hanging in the wardrobe.'
'Then I'll get it for you.' He moved away from her abruptly.
'It's all right.' She tried to sit up. 'I have to wash my face and brush my teeth.'
'I'll leave you, then.' He came back to her with the exquisite long nightgown Mamma had picked out for her so lovingly. 'Goodnight.' He lifted her face and brushed her cheek with his mouth.
'Goodnight, Paul,' she whispered, a little frightened by the remoteness of his manner. 'You're not angry with me?'
'Not with you!' His eyes travelled over her and though they were fathomless, unreflective of his thoughts, she gave a convulsive little shiver.
Stupid, ridiculous, girl! she thought. I've angered you, for all your unreadable expression. Her behaviour had been immature, triggered by the sight of another woman in his arms, the special way he had smiled. Whether she would admit it to herself or not, wasn't her infinite insecurity the root of her troubles? A honeymoon was a time for passion as well as tenderness. Paul had shown her a beautiful city. He had indulged her every wish and had proved himself a superb companion. But never once could she have accused him of trying to seduce her with sheer masculine beauty.
'If you need me, call out.' he said to her at the door, then he was gone, leaving her to her strange despair. Her whole body had become piercingly alive, yet she was tired … tired … tired.
As often happens after a night of upset and excitement Brooke fell into a deep, uneasy sleep. She couldn't admit to herself that she would have been comforted by the presence of her husband, neither could she forget he had told her plainly he hadn't married her for her love. At first her dreams were fragmentary, a weird kaleidoscope of people and places, then as she went deeper into the silent world of sleep she was back in her car heading straight for the deep blue water of the marina. She could see it all dearly. It was happening again, just as vividly. She drew in her breath sharply, jerking her body uncontrollably. All the doors of the car were locked except for the one on her side, yet she couldn't get out. Her shrill cry of terror still hung in the air as she fought out of her nightmare. Both her arms were stretched above her head and her heart was pounding so much she moved one hand down with an effort and covered her agitated breast.
A light went on in the adjoining room, then Paul was towering in the 'doorway staring in at the trembling figure in the bed. 'What in God's name is wrong?'
Her ragged little whisper betrayed her. 'I had a nightmare.'
He moved into her room and flicked the switch that lit the dressing table and the lamps at either side of the bed. His dark curls were faintly tousled and he wore a dark red robe with the navy collar of his pyjama jacket standing up rakishly round his throat. '
'I'm sorry, did I wake you?'
'I wasn't sleeping! ' he answered with faint asperity.
'What time is it?' She put her hands to her temples.
'The usual time you seem to wake up. It's after three.'
Her hair on the pillows glittered red-gold and her eyes were enormous and frightened. Paul came to her then and sat down on the side of the bed. 'What were you dreaming about?'
'Oh, going into the marina that day!' She flung out her hand poignantly and he caught it, lending her some of his abundant strength. Her eyes were shining with tears and her mouth trembling.
'Don't!' he said urgently.
His voice stopped her and the taut wariness of his expression. 'Surely you don't think I'm trying to tempt you to my bed?'
'If you're not, then you're playing with fire.'
'I couldn't be so shameless! ' she said, and her cheeks flamed.
'With your own husband?' he countered smoothly. 'Do you want me to go, or I'll stay. Probably we'll both go to sleep straight away. Besides, it will look better in the morning if we use both beds.'
'All right!' Her eyes clung to his as though hypnotized.
His little mocking smile seemed to fade all at once. 'Little hypocrite!' he said tautly. 'You deny me, yet you want me.'
'Well, take me, then! ' she cried in despair.
'Hush!' He lifted her then, right into his arms, while the room spun around them, turning her in his arms so she relaxed against his shoulder. 'No, little one, some day very soon, I will. I could arouse you very quickly, the ardent woman in you, but not like this, when you're frightened and overwrought.' He moved one hand along her smooth cheek. 'You're so beautiful … so desirable, but first you have to learn how to love! '
'You might try to remember you don't love me!' she muttered, burrowing her head against his hard chest, inexpressibly comforted by his hard strong arms pressing her closer against him.
'Don't I?' he asked dryly. 'What a child you are !' He laid her back on the pillows and slipped his arms from under her. 'Some day you're going to tell me what I want to hear. It is only for that that I exercise this iron control. Maybe too to convince you I am quite different from what you believe.'
'Kiss me goodnight!' she said sleepily, her eyelids falling.
'If I do I'll probably stay awake for the rest of the night! ' He cupped her face in his hands, lowering his head and kissing her so briefly she made a little moan of protest. Exhaustion was making everything melt away, the whirlwind of emotions that had left her spent.
For a moment Paul stood there looking at her, then he moved to the other bed and turned down the covers. 'Women!' he murmured, and sho
ok his head. 'I do not want you, cara mia, as a sacrifice! '
CHAPTER SEVEN
DURING the next few weeks Brooke noticed a marked change in herself, almost as if a new Brooke had emerged. Although she didn't laugh and talk as freely as she once had done she had never looked better. The summer sun had given her the lightest golden tan, and Paul spent so much money on her she had to upbraid him for his extravagance. Mamma and Louise had gone off on their travels and though she missed them she had Lucia for company, and she was very proud of being Mrs Paul Corelli and mistress of Wintersweet.
They did a lot of entertaining. It was expected, but Brooke didn't have to cope alone. They had a housekeeper, plus Gianni and a gardener who came in three times a week. In many ways it even seemed Paul relied on her, though she was never certain what time he would leave in the morning or what time he would arrive home at night. Big business, she came to find, was very demanding of one's time and she told herself it was enough to see little Lucia emerging shyly from her cocoon and Paul visibly pleased with her as his young, enchanting wife. At parties and dinners she continued to see other women looking at him with unmistakable expressions, but she just told herself quietly.' He is my husband and he wants nothing sordid to touch our lives. It was like a dream somehow, yet it was real and it couldn't go on.
From her bedroom window Brooke saw Carla drive up to the house, and bit her lip in slight agitation. She could never like Carla, though Carla's behaviour since they had arrived home had been quite pleasant and correct. She had decided not to return to Kenya immediately but to spend perhaps a year in a city she found fascinating―or she said it was the city. Brooke had the dismal notion that she really meant Paul. He had been very good to her, allowing her to keep on the apartment, and by this time they were meeting her at all the parties and functions they were invited to, and as she was a relative of Paul and Lucia it was necessary to invite her to their home.
This morning she wasn't invited, but she arrived all the same. Hastily Brooke smoothed her hair and went downstairs, arriving in the entrance hall just as Carla was moving in out of the sunlight.
'Buon giorno!' she called out like a challenge.
'How are you, Carla? How nice to see you.'
'Cut it out, cara,' Carla said crudely. 'I know and you know we do not like each other! '
'Then why have you come?' Brooke asked her crisply.
Carla lifted her drooping, heavy lids. 'Why, to return, Paul's lighter, of course. He will be too busy to come back to the apartment, and anyone can see it's valuable.'
Lucia had been running down the stairs and when she saw Carla she stopped awkwardly. 'Oh, Carla,' she said, and looked quickly at Brooke.
'How are you, little one?' Carla asked mockingly. 'Come on down. I won't bite you.'
'Would you care for a cup of coffee?' Brooke asked abruptly. 'Lucia and I were just about to have one.'
'Lovely!' said Carla, her dark eyes darting all over the pictures and furniture. 'My, oh, my haven't there been some changes in this house since we first arrived?'
'Yes, Paul is very good to me.' Brooke fought to give an easy answer, though she felt sick and shaken inside. Carla was a voluptuous woman, every temptress she could think of rolled into one, and she had made no secret of her feeling for Paul. Brooke was certain Paul felt no love for Carla, but today, just looking at her, Brooke could see she could easily incite desire, and sometimes desire had to be assuaged, specially when a passionate man was bound to a woman who didn't allow him into her bed.
'Shall I tell Harry?' Lucia said to Brooke, almost shrinking from her soulless cousin.
'Yes, dear!' Brooke smiled at her. 'We'll have it on the terrace, I think. It's so much cooler there.'
Lucia nodded and made off towards the kitchen to give Harriet the order, and Brooke glanced across at Carla. 'If you'd like to come through. Perhaps you could give me the lighter now.'
'Why, certainly!' Carla opened her handbag and began to rummage through it. 'Oh, here it is. I didn't like to hold on to it. It would have made me feel too responsible.'
'I see,' Brooke said calmly. She knew before Carla put the lighter into her hand that it was the one she had given to Paul. 'You're quite right, it's eighteen-carat gold.' She stared at the lighter for a minute, then slipped it in her pocket, apparently treating the matter very lightly.
'Don't be angry,' Carla drawled. 'You're a very sweet, pure girl and you're legally married to Paul, but you must realise you can't satisfy him―or don't you even try?'
She was looking at Brooke with such sharp, malicious perception that Brooke felt the colour drain from her face. 'Are you trying to tell me Paul visits you?'
'Of course, I'm his lady! '
'I can't believe it!' Brooke returned cuttingly. 'He has much better taste.'
'You mean you don't want to believe it!' Carla said with hard and bitter irony. 'Yours isn't the usual marriage, is it?'
The colour had completely left Brooke's high cheekbones. 'What you're saying, Carla, is very serious. I don't really know why you're saying it at all, and I'm not going to .be such a hypocrite as to pretend you're welcome any longer in this house !'
'How naive you are!' Carla made a little graceful gesture with her hand. 'In spite of your cleverness, your pleasant position in society, you're starved for your own husband's love. He gives you a big allowance and you play the grand lady, but inside you must weep!'
'Why should I?' Brooke heard herself saying calmly, though her distaste for Carla was written plainly in her face.' 'My husband treats me with gentleness, consideration and understanding. Innocent little Lucia is happy, away from your malice, and you can't hurt me. I don't want to push you rudely through the door, but I'd like you to go. We simply do not compete!'
'Poor tragic little bride! ' Carla persisted inexorably. 'I'm glad we had this interesting little talk.' Her dark hair curled about her face and her large eyes were glittering with feeling. 'No need to call for Gianni. I'll show myself out.' She laughed with what seemed like real delight and took herself swiftly out on to the portico, then downstairs into the sunlight.
Brooke stood there watching for some time, then she turned as Lucia addressed her.
'Has she gone?'
'I told her to.'
'I'm glad! ' Lucia moved across the marble floor and slipped an arm around Brooke's waist. 'Now we can have coffee, just the two of us. Carla is a troublemaker. It has always been so. Zia Anna never really liked her, but at least she thought she would be company for me on the trip over. Papa paid for her, of course, but she was supposed to return.'
'Ah well, let's have our coffee.' Brooke turned the younger girl around, praying her face wouldn't betray her. There was precious little lightheartedness left in her now, but she had to cover up for Lucia's sake. 'Afterwards, why don't you ring Kate and Melissa? Gianni has cleaned the pool out and Harry would be pleased to help you get a barbecue luncheon.'
'Oh, could I?' Lucia's pansy-soft eyes showed her pleasure.
'You don't even have to ask!' Brooke said with affection. 'This is your home as well as mine. I like to see you happy with your friends! '
Harriet, coming through from the kitchen with a silver tray, asked.' 'In the sun room?' She knew well enough that the tempestuous Miss di Campo had departed.
'Yes, thank you, Harry.' Brooke nodded absently. 'Sit down and have one with us.'
'I won't say no to it.' Harry returned pleasantly. 'Now what's this I hear about some young people coming out?'
'Only two, Harry.' said Lucia, whirling around.
'All I want is numbers so I can nourish them!' Harriet returned, smiling. 'No problem in this house! '
There was something about her young mistress's face that was worrying her, but she was too tactful to say anything.
Later on in the day when the girls were enjoying themselves by the pool, Gianni came through to announce that Mrs Symons had called in to say hello.' Brooke got up immediately in a kind of confused gratitude. An hour or so b
efore she had taken a call from Maggie and some of her mood must have communicated itself to her friend. Maggie's business kept her very fully occupied and Brooke knew she had taken time off specially to call in and see her.
Maggie was standing in the drawing room, handling with reverence a pottery court lady of the Tang dynasty. She was passionately devoted to Chinese ceramics and owned a valuable collection herself, most of it inherited from an old uncle who had been a well-known art gallery curator.
'Maggie, how nice of you to call! '
'You worried me on the phone, dear!' Maggie put the pottery figure down and kissed Brooke's cheek in her usual warm, friendly manner. 'Just you tell your Aunt Maggie. Lillian isn't here, nor Louise, and you know quite well I'm extremely fond of you.'