Beloved Rake

by Anne Hampson

  Serra had to laugh as she nodded an affirmative. Her laugh was soft and silver-edged, like pixie music floating from a magic reed. But it ended on a little quaver, for Dirk was standing in the doorway, having silently pushed the door open. Serra swallowed, but Jenny sent him a calm smile and invited him to come in. His brown eyes glinted. Never had Serra seen such a harsh and frightening expression on his face as he said smoulderingly to Jenny,

  ‘So you beat me to it, eh? What did you surprise? Tell me, if you please!’

  ‘Surprise?’ Jenny blinked at him. How small she appeared beside him, thought Serra, whose heart was beating overrate and her throat felt tight because of the little grip of apprehension clinging there.

  ‘What were they doing when you went out to them?’ He spoke to Jenny, but his dark intimidating gaze was fixed on his wife’s pallid face.

  ‘Are you referring to Bernard and Serra?’ inquired Jenny with a lift of her brow.

  His teeth gritted at the evasion. He looked quite capable of boxing Jenny’s ears, thought Serra, taking a sudden step backwards as Dirk advanced into the middle of the room.

  ‘What were you and Bernard doing out there?’ demanded Dirk, now putting the question to his wife.

  She gave a nervous little cough, her eyes darting to Jenny as if she would have her sister-in-law provide her with some clue as to how she must answer this question. The silent inquiry did not go unobserved by Dirk and dark fury edged his tone as he snapped,

  ‘Answer me! —at once!’

  Another nervous cough and then, impelled by the demands of honesty, Serra murmured, hanging her head,

  ‘He kissed me.’

  An awful silence followed the brief admission. Jenny sent her brother a surreptitious glance from under her lashes; she seemed glad that Serra had told the truth.

  ‘He kissed you, did he?’ Vibrating tones with fury caught in the emphasis of every word.

  ‘I didn’t want him to.’ Serra still kept her head averted, feeling Dirk had a right to be angry, yet at the same time puzzled that his anger should be so strong. It wasn’t as if he really cared that someone kissed her, he just didn’t like the idea, that was all. ‘I felt sick.’

  For a moment he seemed speechless; Serra felt she would have been quite terrified had not her sister-in-law been present. Ignoring her second sentence he said,

  ‘So you didn’t want him to, eh?’ Another step brought him close to Serra, who again stepped back.

  ‘Why, then, were you flirting with him in the ballroom?’

  ‘She wasn’t flirting,’ put in Jenny. ‘How can you accuse Serra of such a thing?’

  His eyes glinted as he glanced at Jenny.

  ‘She wasn’t? Then how came he to invite her on to the terrace?’ Jenny made no answer and Dirk added, ‘You know full well she was flirting. Every damned guest in the room knew it!’

  ‘Is that why you’re so angry?’ asked Serra on a note of apology. ‘I expect people would think it odd that I should flirt with someone else, but after all,’ she added, trying to melt him with a smile, ‘they all know why we married, and as you were flirting with Clarice—’

  ‘I was not flirting with Clarice!’

  ‘Well, it certainly looked like flirting to me. Even Bernard passed remarks about your not taking your eyes off her the whole evening,’ she ended without thinking.

  ‘So you were discussing me—in between your more amorous indulgences!’ He looked likely to explode and Jenny watched him shrewdly, deliberately keeping out of the conversation for the present.

  ‘Amorous?’ the word was new to Serra and she looked questioningly at him. His swift intake of breath was like an animal hiss and her expression changed to one of innocence. What was the matter with him? ‘You did say I could do as I liked,’ she thought to remind him. But the reminder had no effect; he had not absorbed it, she felt sure, because his glowering expression remained.

  ‘When I said that I had no idea what I was in for!’ Serra had no comment to make, merely bowing her head again. ‘You, if you remember,’ her husband went on, ‘promised to give me no trouble!’

  She raised her eyes then, and they were wide and contrite and Dirk’s gaze became fixed on her, examining every lovely line of her face with a sort of compulsive interest! She looked so young and so lacking in armour. Watching them both for a second or two Jenny gave a satisfied little smile. Then she said briskly,

  ‘Shall we get back to the ballroom? Mother will be wondering if anything’s wrong, with us all being absent, that is.’

  Her brother was still intently observing his wife, his anger rapidly decreasing until a mere dying spark remained. As Charles had advised, he had acquired a sense of humour, and there could be no retention of his fury while Serra stood there, small and contrite and yet with a look of puzzlement in her big brown eyes because she obviously considered her ‘crime’ undeserving of such wrath.

  ‘Yes, we’ll go back.’ The merest pause and then, ‘You, my girl, will dance with me for the rest of the evening. I’ll keep you out of mischief somehow!’

  Mrs. Morgan had obviously been looking round for them because she smiled and her expression was one of relief when they all re-entered the ballroom. Dirk danced with Serra and then they sat down at the table where Mrs. Morgan was seated.

  Was something wrong? she wanted to know, with a swift glance at Dirk before her gaze settled on Serra.

  Serra shook her head, then stopped, sending an inquiring look at her husband.

  ‘Spill it if you want to,’ he nodded with resignation.

  ‘I don’t think you want me to,’ she murmured, at which Dirk sighed, then laughed.

  ‘She’s been outside on the terrace with Bernard,’ he told his mother. ‘Jenny knows all about it, so I can’t see the reason for this reluctance on Serra’s part. You’ll hear it all before the night’s out. If I’ve done nothing else I’ve provided my family with some amusement by my marriage!’

  Colour mounted Serra’s cheeks, but for some reason she was feeling exceedingly happy and free from the dejection which had enveloped her while Dirk was giving all his attention to Clarice.

  ‘Why did you do that?’ Mrs. Morgan looked interrogatingly at her daughter-in-law. ‘What were you doing out there with Bernard?’

  Serra swallowed hard, unable to answer.

  ‘Allowing him to kiss her,’ obliged Dirk, but this time he did not laugh. ‘She has no sense at all.’

  ‘I didn’t think he would kiss me,’ protested Serra flashing him an indignant glance. ‘He seemed quite nice until then—except he flattered me,’ she added as a frowning afterthought.

  ‘Didn’t you like that?’ Dirk asked, his voice faintly crisp.

  ‘It wasn’t sincere.’

  ‘So ... you did gather that much?’

  She nodded and he went on, ‘Why, then, didn’t you come back inside?’

  ‘He was kissing me before I could even think,’ she began. ‘He’s stupid!’

  Dirk laughed, but his mother shook her head unbelievingly.

  ‘Serra, most girls would have loved to have Bernard kiss them.’

  ‘And gone all willowy and sighed for more,’ put in Dirk, adding, ‘But all he did for Serra was to make her want to vomit,’ and he continued, despite the visible shudder which his disapproving parent gave, ‘Serra has a certain weakness there. She feels sick for the most curious reasons.’

  ‘You’re laughing at me,’ she accused, but her face glowed and she bestowed a happy smile upon him.

  A muscle moved in his throat; he looked older, somehow, and more mature.

  ‘Let’s dance,’ he said abruptly, and rose from his chair.

  CHAPTER NINE

  WHEN they got home Dirk wanted to know what she had been saying to Clarice.

  ‘You were downright rude at the end,’ he admonished before she could reply to his question.

  ‘She asked for it!’

  ‘Why—what did she say to you?’ he inquired curiously.

>   ‘She said I had made the catch of the season—at least, she said you were the catch of the season.’

  Amusement kindled in Dirk’s eyes.

  ‘You should have been gratified.’

  ‘I didn’t really know what it meant.’

  ‘Did you tell Clarice you didn’t?’ Dirk leant back in his big armchair and regarded his wife through half closed eyes.

  ‘I gave her to understand that I didn’t, and she then asked me if I came from a backward village.’ The recollection brought a sparkle to Serra’s eyes and Dirk’s lips quivered.

  ‘So you proudly told her you came from Athens?’

  ‘Yes. And she said she didn’t like Athens—’ Serra looked challengingly at her husband before adding, ‘I said it appeals mainly to people with aesthetic tastes. That riled her, and I was glad!’

  ‘You can be quite bitchy when you like.’ He spoke musingly, his gaze examining yet humorous. ‘What had she to say to that?’

  ‘She told me I was rude, but I didn’t retaliate,’ she added with a sudden hint of regret.

  ‘I’m amazed.

  ‘She then asked how long I’d known you.’ Serra laughed suddenly and her eyes twinkled. ‘I felt like telling her that we’d picked each other up on the Acropolis and that I’d had to run off to be si—’

  ‘But you didn’t inform her of these things,’ he interrupted hastily. ‘You surprise me.’

  ‘I thought you’d be cross, otherwise I would have done.’

  ‘I’m glad you practised some small amount of restraint.’ He regarded her inscrutably but, somehow, she felt he had a reason for what he had just said.

  ‘I was just about to say something scathing, though,’ Serra admitted imperturbably. ‘But you came along and I didn’t have the chance.’

  ‘Once again, I’m glad your tongue was curbed.’

  He yawned and glanced at the clock.

  ‘Yes,’ Serra smiled. ‘It’s time we were going to bed. Oh, but I’ve enjoyed myself tonight.’ She stood up, a lovely dainty figure with all the noble Grecian lines of a classical sculpture. ‘Especially the last part,’ she murmured dreamily. ‘When you danced with me all the time, that was.’ His warmth against her body, the rhythmic movements that set a nerve tingling, then a pulse, and then her whole being had become affected by the nearness of him. New emotions, vivid and exciting; quiverings and tremors and strange yearnings that teased, because as yet they were vague and indefinable.

  ‘You enjoyed dancing with me?’ He spoke softly, rising from his chair as he did so. ‘It was supposed to be a punishment—and a restriction on any further flirtations you might have decided to indulge in.’

  She twinkled at him, then fluttered her lashes. His lids came down so that his eyes were half closed, yet perception was there ... and another expression that sent her heart racing. Did Dirk like her?

  ‘You know very well I wouldn’t have flirted again,’ she protested. ‘And I never shall.’

  A small profound silence and then, with gentle humour,

  ‘You’ll never flirt again, you say?’ No answer, just a tint of colour rising because Serra had caught his meaning and she knew she had not been very clever. So it came as no surprise when he added, still in those soft and humorous tones, ‘What, then, are you doing at present?’

  ‘I—I—’ Swift colour now, rising rapidly; she half turned from him, but his arms came about her and she was soon facing him, looking up into laughing brown eyes—the eyes of a rake, and yet—Hadn’t she seen a new maturity in those eyes earlier tonight? It was there at this profound moment, strong and steady, and permanent, she thought, her swift-winged memory reverting to Jenny and her confident assertion that it would not be long before he mended his ways. Then Serra’s thought switched for one fleeting moment to her own intention of having a good time once she got to England. Now, she had no wish to have a good time—at least, not in the way she had pictured. All she wanted was to be with her husband, whether it be attending dinner parties, riding in the park, or just sitting with him quietly in the house.

  ‘Weren’t you flirting with me?’ Soft words and the caress of clean cool breath on her forehead. ‘You were, you know...’ His lips found hers in a long kiss, gentle and warm. She quivered like some frightened bird caught and held, yet not trapped.

  ‘No ... no, I don’t th-think s-so,’ she managed when at last he gave her the opportunity of speaking.

  A soft laugh was his only response; he still held her, in a possessive manner, and as they stood there in the elegant room, so quiet except for the muted tick of the French marble clock, Serra experienced that inevitable access of revelation. She knew she loved her husband, and the wonder of it became reflected in her eyes. Her mother had told her about love, but Serra had resigned herself to the fact that she would never know its meaning, for despite her efforts at defiance she felt that one day she must succumb to pressure and marry a man whom her father chose for her. That, or spinster-hood, she had decided. And now... But Dirk did not return her love. He divided his attention among several women, it seemed, none of whom meant anything more to him than the physical pleasure their charms could provide.

  ‘It’s late,’ she murmured awkwardly at length. ‘Past one o’clock.’

  ‘We can lie in tomorrow.’ His lips were a sigh and a dream away from hers; she willed him to kiss her. ‘I shan’t be going out tomorrow, so there’s nothing for me to get up early for.’

  She stared in disbelief.

  ‘You always go out on Sundays—I mean, you usually go off for the week-end.’

  ‘I couldn’t this week-end, could I?’

  ‘No, but you could go off tomorrow.’

  ‘Perhaps, but I’m not going to.’

  ‘Jenny’s coming to take me fossil-hunting,’ she said breathlessly, and at that he frowned.

  ‘That girl’s crazy about fossils!’

  ‘This is the best place in England for them.’

  ‘One of the best places,’ he corrected, though absently. ‘Oh, well, we’ll all go fossil-hunting.’

  Her whole body quivered against him.

  ‘You—as well? You really want to come with us?’

  ‘What time are you starting out?’ he inquired guardedly before answering her question.

  ‘Not until after lunch. Jenny said she’d be tired too, and wants a lie-in tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Very well, then I shall come with you.’ Another silence. She saw the slight movement of his mouth, as if some emotion had caught him also. ‘Good night, little girl,’ he said softly—and her swift, sudden drift of hope was swept away.

  ‘Good night, Dirk.’ Again she invited his kiss. He smiled at her and, reaching the door, held it for her to pass before him. Together they went upstairs.

  Serra’s bedroom door was reached before Dirk’s, whose was the next one along the wide, picture-lined corridor. He stood a moment, looking into the room after she had swung the door inwards. The great tester bed was hung with gold and net drapes; a pelmet of ruched gold satin was fluted into scallops between which hung long gold tassels. The bedcovers were turned down; Serra’s filmy nightdress had been draped prettily by her maid, and it lay over one white pillow, seductive in its transparency and subtle contrast of colour, for it was made up of several shades of rose, diminishing in strength until, at the top, the colour was no more than a subtle shade of peach. Dirk’s eyes flickered from the bed to the lovely girl who was his wife—the girl he had chosen so that he would never even know he was married. She shone up at him, her eyes soft and trusting as a fawn’s. She saw him swallow hard, and something urged her to keep her sleepy lids from drooping. She blinked rapidly in an effort to do so and yet her lids did droop in spite of this. A smile curved her husband’s mouth; he ruffled her hair and said,

  ‘Good night—my little girl. Sleep well.’ A light kiss was dropped on each tired lid and a moment later he was at his own bedroom door. A lean brown hand was raised in salute and then both he and Serra had disappea
red into their own rooms, and the doors were softly closed. Serra stood with her back to hers, resting against it. So this was love. This sweet and precious thing, this warmth, this ecstasy. Would Dirk come to love her? She laughed softly to herself ... and remembered how, at first, she would very much have preferred Charles as a husband.

  ‘Thank you, dear Mary, for not letting it be Charles,’ she whispered devoutly, and began to undress.

  Dirk drove the car and they made for Lyme Regis where, after finding a place to park close to the beach, they left the car and began walking in the direction of Pinhay Bay. The two girls wore slacks and shirts and carried geological hammers. Rucksacks were swung on their backs. Dirk also wore a pair of old slacks and an open-necked shirt. All wore strong boots, Serra having been into Weymouth the previous morning to buy hers.

  Jenny had naturally expressed surprise when her brother was waiting, all ready to accompany them on their fossil-hunting expedition. Her lashes shaded her expression and she merely portrayed the minimum of surprise necessary to the unusual behaviour of her brother. But her eyes strayed from him to Serra and as on several other occasions she allowed herself a satisfied little smile.

  ‘Can we start now?’ Serra wanted to know. She had seen Jenny’s wonderful fossil collection and she was eager to begin finding some fossils of her own. One could buy them, of course, but that sort of collecting was for amateurs, not geologists, Jenny had told Serra, who had promptly reminded her that she herself was only an amateur.

  ‘You’ll not be one for long. If the bug gets you as it got me then you’ll soon be wanting to know more about the rocks and the wonderful treasures one can find in them.’

  ‘We don’t start now,’ Dirk replied before Jenny could do so. ‘Jen likes to go to the farthest point first and then work back—which is sensible, of course, because of the weight one has to carry.’