Wake the Sleeping Tiger

by Margaret Way

  Brooke felt utterly naked, her whole body flushing and on fire. 'I want to put on my nightgown! ' she said stormily.'

  'What for?' he flashed back, with a twist of his mouth.

  'Stop it, Paul! '

  'This my home, isn't it? If I wish to look at my wife, I will. Surely you don't expect me to leave, or do you? I assure you I won't. Come, signorina,' he stressed cruelly, 'am I never to hear what you mean by your outrageous statement?'

  'Please!' she said again, and her full mouth quivered. 'I always said you'd know how to make a woman suffer.'

  'Really?' He smiled ironically, and came back towards her with his smooth, rhythmic stride. 'I thought I was being exceptionally good to you.'

  'Then do what I ask!' she cried out in agitation, feeling helpless and trapped and scarcely-clothed. 'Go away and leave me alone.'

  'Never!'

  A strange little tremor shot through her, an awareness that she was pushing him too far. His control with her had been monumental, even as his passion might be volcanic.

  'I've tried every way I know how to fulfil your demands,' he told her, 'now it's time for you to fulfil mine!'

  'And if I can't?' her heart was pounding and her ears were filled with a roar like the surf dashing itself up against a rock wall.

  'Then at least we will be very much married!' He was standing over her, very dark and sleek, his eyes never leaving her face. Slowly he began to unbutton his shirt and a sense of utter fatality enveloped her.

  'I'm going to fight you,' she whispered.

  'Fight me, darling. It doesn't matter!' He reached for her and pulled her into his arms, his beautiful hard body beside her, taking her face firmly between his hands and covering her mouth with his own.

  He was still holding her when she could resist him no longer and she could feel the melting weakness spread through her body, sensation piling ,on sensation, bewildering her because there seemed no release. Hazily she realised he was speaking to her in his own language, his hands covering her body, bringing her to a feverish ardency, until she no longer had the desire to evade him. Such caresses were leaving her mindless, her body accepting him as the perfect lover. Though she didn't even realise it, her arms were up and around his neck, clinging, her mouth young and ardent, moving under his own, her trembling body silken and yielding.

  'You belong to me. You always have done, since you were born. Say it!' He twisted his hand through her hair so she had to open her eyes.

  'No.' She was too vulnerable, too fevered and shocked by her own feelings.

  'No matter, your body is saying it for you. Tell me to leave you and I will.'

  'You're cruel … a tormentor!' Even as the words left her throat, Paul's mouth stopped her.

  'For you to say that!' he said huskily. 'You who have tormented me day and night!' He wrapped his hand in her hair kissing her deeply. 'Say you want me.'

  'Yes.' Her shaken whisper was very low, but he heard her.

  He shifted her in 'his arms, his dark face elated, strong yet gentle, masterful and tender, a combination of qualities that left her weak with desire. Lingeringly his hands travelled over her, moving to cup her tender, yearning breasts, taking the soft weight of them.

  'How beautiful you are! ' he said with infinite tenderness, and bent his head.

  Brooke stiffened and gave a little stifled moan, then she gave herself up to her tumultuous feelings, not stopping him because she loved him and she wanted him and the pleasure of having him beside her in this way was shattering. Her eyes were half shut and her lips parted. He was speaking to her in words she didn't understand, but the meaning was obvious. Passion rose between them and he was wonderfully confident. Instinctively she followed wherever he led her, for nothing else in the whole world seemed to matter.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  BROOKE woke late next morning to find herself alone. Without Paul beside her, she experienced an incredible sense of separation and she wondered why, after such a night, she had failed to tell him how much she loved him. His physical reality lingered beside her and she reached over and stroked the cool, smooth sheet and the pillow on which he had laid his dark head. He had awoken her to such a pitch she ached for him. He had been the most perfect lover and her clear, creamy skin flushed with colour. For the first time in her life she was fully conscious and proud of being a woman. Paul had made her completely whole, and though she felt the same melting sensations he aroused in her, there was warmth and peace too, like a homecoming.

  She would ring him. Speak to him. Tell him she loved him. She was devastated by the sweeping rush of emotion she felt for him. There had been a kind of glory about the night, the fascination of sweet violence and afterwards a superb tenderness. She stretched slowly and languorously, arching her neck and her spine. She wanted him again. She would never stop wanting him until her heart ceased to beat. Or had he said that? He had taken her with such passion, such piercing beauty and excitement, it didn't seem possible she was not the only, beloved woman in his life. The incredible feeling of closeness remained with her and she was certain Paul felt it too. They were no longer separate people, but part of each other, and it seemed a vital necessity for her to get up and ring him.

  Her green eyes blazed with excitement and she thrust her long slender legs out of bed. She was naked for the first time in her life, but even that didn't seem to matter. Paul had told her over and over again in such moving, exciting ways that her woman's body gave him utter, complete delight, an incredible feeling of power. In a second she had her robe on, walking to the window, looking out over the beautiful garden. How sweet was the morning, how scented the air, how gay and restored she felt in mind and body. Carla and her breathless little accusations didn't even come into her mind. The very air seemed sprinkled with gold dust and the erotic excitement of the night persisted, giving her a startling beauty. Quickly she wound her hair up on the top of her head, fixed it with a few pins and went through to the bathroom to turn on the shower. The day offered such promise and tonight Paul would be home. Confidence and elation stirred in her. Paul, her husband.

  As it turned out, Brooke was unable to get her call through. Paul's secretary told her regretfully that Mr. Corelli had been called away and she was uncertain of the time he would return to his office; there were structural problems associated with a new downtown site and Mr. Corelli was expected to call there first. If the matter was urgent Mr. Corelli could certainly be contacted, but Brooke said pleasantly that no, the matter wasn't urgent and she would see her husband that evening. She only wanted to tell her husband she loved him. Nothing more-urgent than that, but it made her catch her breath and her face break out into smiles as she encountered and said good morning to every member of the household. There were even yellow roses, glistening with dew, that the gardener had brought in to Harriet first thing in the morning and she had promptly placed in the centre of the breakfast table like some beautiful, glowing omen.

  On that day everything seemed admirable. There was overseas mail from Mamma and Louise giving a good ten-page account of their shopping and sightseeing and the wonderful house parties they had been to. It all sounded very impressive to Brooke, but not surprising. Mamma was a born hedonist and she was well suited to a way of life others might have found superficial or exhausting.

  Brooke was sitting out on the sundeck watching Lucia perfecting her dive from the side of the pool when the call came. There was nothing to warn her. The sun was in her eyes, so she didn't really see Gianni's expression, but when he spoke she sat up straight and swung her legs to the redwood decking.

  'Paul!' she said faintly, and gave a little betraying lurch.

  'Please, signora! ' Automatically Gianni put his hand to her elbow to steady her. 'They said only he had been taken to hospital for observation, to check on the extent of his injuries. There was an accident … some member of the construction crew … Paolo went to his aid, but he was injured himself. I confess I am so upset I never heard all that Mr. Collins was telling me.
He is the construction boss or some such thing. At first I thought…'

  'Don't, Gianni!' Brooke took off her sunglasses and behind them her eyes looked larger, the colour deeper, and yet their expression was frightened and somehow unfocused. Gianni, beside her, was bent over like the old man he really was and she shook her head trying to clear it. 'I must go to the hospital. Lucia must be told. I'm so afraid, Gianni. Why didn't you call me to the phone?'

  'Signor Collins rang off. He insisted I break the news to you gently. He sounded very shocked himself and there were many things he had to do himself.'

  'All right, Gianni,' Brooke murmured 'bleakly, 'I understand.' She shuddered as the full realisation began to hit her in waves. 'I woke up so happy. I tried to ring him, you know. Please tell Bob to get the car out for me and leave it standing in the drive, then go back, inside and lie down. You've had a shock. I know howl devoted you are to my husband. I'll ring you from the hospital. We might find that his injuries aren't serious. I pray to God that is so―I don't think I could survive without him.''

  'And little Lucia?' Gianni looked towards the brilliant aquamarine pool where Lucia was exercising her slight limbs.

  'I'll tell her now. She can come with me. She'll want to see her father.' Brooke twisted her titian head around and called to the girl, who looked up smiling and waved.

  'Why don't you come in yourself ?It's heavenly!'

  'Oh, God! ' whispered Brooke, and began to tremble.

  Gianni's hand touched her shoulder, then he walked towards the edge of the pool calling to Lucia in their own language. He was standing there to help her out of the water, her black hair wet and her brown skin glistening, then Brooke saw him put his arm around her shoulder as she began to cry.

  'Lucia dear,' she spoke gently, 'we must get ready to go to the hospital. You want to come with me, don't you?'

  'Si, certainly!' Lucia looked up and her little face firmed with purpose, but Brooke could see the fear and bewilderment in her eyes.

  The pallor of Brooke's own face was pronounced. Somehow she got them all moving, her hands tightly clenched and her jaw tight to stop herself from crying. Harriet had been told, and Brooke was grateful to her for the way she attended to both Gianni and Lucia in their shaken states. Brooke herself maintained a strange ominous silence. She tried to pray, but nothing seemed to come. Paul wasn't dead, though the terror touched her. She dressed quickly, not really conscious of anything she put on. Her skin felt cold, yet it was a warm, golden day. Surely God in His mercy couldn't take Paul away from her? She loved him, yet she hadn't even told him. If anything happened to him she would never forgive herself for all the days of her life. Nothing mattered but Paul and what he had come to mean to her. He had wanted her to have his child. He had wanted so much more of her, and she had withheld herself while he covered her and her whole family with gifts. She had even accused him falsely of an involvement with Carla when she knew in her heart of hearts that Carla had reached him in no way at all. Perhaps she was was going to be punished now. Perhaps she was going to be left alone with Wintersweet and Paul's only child, Lucia. Lucia she loved, but she loved Paul much, much more. More than she had ever loved anything or anyone in her whole life. Without him she would be desolate forever.

  A tear fell and she put a hand to her cheek, wiping it ruthlessly away. She had to be the strong one, at least until they reached the hospital. Lucia was little more than a child and her father meant everything in the world to her. Lucia, too, would be feeling this terrible, lancing pain. She wished she had spoken to the Mr. Collins who had rung the house. Probably he had no real idea of the extent of Paul's injuries. They could be internal.

  'Paul !'she whispered, and ran downstairs.

  The traffic was heavy all the way to the hospital and she could have screamed with anguished frustration. Lucia sat beside her, huddled up in deep thought. There was nothing to say, nothing they could do until they found out how Paul was. Tension was building up in Brooke at such a rate she had to make a great effort to even release her breath. She thought of Paul, so wonderfully fit and hard, the way his body had so perfectly fitted her own, and her face twisted in protest. She couldn't bear to think of that same beautiful male body bruised and crushed. Gianni had told her some section of a wall had collapsed.

  Somehow they found parking close to the main entrance and Brooke raced away to the desk to make her enquiries. The woman there was kind but collected. For twenty years she had dealt with the public, but never once had she known the personal, heart-pounding fright of involvement. She spoke to a nurse and the nurse in turn looked at Brooke and issued a command.

  'Come this way! '

  'Lucia! ' Brooke looked back and held out her hand and Lucia quickly closed the gap between them, clinging to Brooke's hand and following the nurse's determined lead. There seemed to be patients everywhere, sitting, standing, dressing or undressing in cubicles. This was Casualty and apparently Paul had not yet been admitted to a ward. Brooke forced her mind to focus on this. Surely it was a good sign. The nurse continued to walk calmly and with a necessary detachment through the ranks of injuries, but the pallor of Lucia's young face was alarming. Brooke pressed her hand, willing her a little control, though the familiar, unfamiliar, smell of the hospital was making her feel nauseated as well.

  'Wait here, please.'

  The nurse turned and gave them a smile that helped, indicating a vacant bench with her hand.

  Brooke and Lucia sat close together, staring down at the drab floor, both of them grateful they weren't alone, but both of them unbearably tense. A few minutes elapsed, then a tall, grey-haired man with intent blue eyes emerged from the end surgery and came towards them.

  'Mrs Corelli?'

  Brooke jumped to her feet, her heart thumping. She faced the doctor with her whole heart in her eyes, seeing the tiredness and strain in his face. 'How is my husband, doctor?'

  The doctor sighed and took off his glasses. 'I think, young lady, you can offer up a big prayer of thankfulness. He's all right, but I'd like to keep him here for a day or two. It would be wise to keep an eye on him with a head injury. No broken bones like the other poor chap who, I understand, was responsible for the accident. Your husband went to his assistance, and incidentally saved his life.'

  'Can I see him?' In her sick haste Brooke forgot to include Lucia, then she remembered and explained that Lucia was Paul's daughter.

  The doctor nodded politely and considered. 'For a moment only, then I want him admitted.' He recovered consciousness only once and then briefly. Mercifully signs of damage to the brain are absent and it's simply a matter of waiting until he comes around. The workman's injuries aren't serious considering. He's deeply shocked and holds himself responsible and he's taken a certain amount of calming down. I don't think he'll be properly convinced until your husband is up and about, Mrs Corelli. But come this way, both of you. Just a moment, but I know you'll feel happier to see him. Only one scalp laceration, but he has plenty of thick black hair! '

  Brooke's heart was fluttering violently, and Lucia's face already beginning to pucker. Paul was lying on the table, his face unmarked, the sculptured mouth and the eyelids closed, a bandage binding his wide forehead and his dark hair. His head was turned a little to the left and his arms lay slackly by his side. There was no colour whatever in his face or his mouth and the bone structure seemed very clean' beneath the taut skin.

  'Oh, Paul!' Brooke felt the jolt to her heart. She stood at the side of the table looking down at him and Lucia moved to the other side and looked down at the quiet face of her father.

  'The wound to the head is superficial.' the doctor said quietly. 'The X-ray report is good. Still, he'll have to be watched. Reflexes are normal. He's a very lucky man and he's very fit and strong. I should go home now and phone in from time to time. There's no reason for you to worry.'

  'We can't help it!' Brooke answered for both of them. 'Thank you, doctor, I know he's in good hands.'

  All through the rest
of the day and the night Brooke tried to feel the comfort 'of her own words. Paul was in good hands. His doctor, she had learned later, was a distinguished neuro-surgeon and senior consultant to the hospital. She didn't sleep much, so anxious it was a real physical pain, and she kept listening for the phone to ring. Once she woke up in a sweat thinking she had heard its shrill call, then she fell back to the pillows again, saying to herself in a long, gasping breath.'

  'It's all right. Everything is going to be all right!'

  In the morning she had a headache and the whole household was upset and withdrawn. Conquering her distress and anxiety, Brooke rang the hospital and received the news that her husband's condition was satisfactory and he had recovered consciousness during the night. She had asked with difficulty what time she could see him and was told the normal visiting hours.

  'How is he?'

  They were all grouped around her; Lucia and Gianni and Harriet, their eyes raying through her. 'Condition satisfactory I ' Brooke repeated the message, then burst into tears.