The Loving Slave

by Margaret Pargeter

  It was almost two in the morning before Quentin decided they would leave, and even then he didn't appear in any great hurry to return to the flat.

  'Would you like some supper?' he enquired, as they went out to their taxi.

  'Supper?'

  'It's not impossible,' he assured her dryly.

  'It's not that.' She had been trying to decide how best to make her apologies, for her guilty, aching conscience wouldn't allow her to put off any longer. Supper, she felt, would choke her. It might, of course, be easier to stay out until dawn when Quentin would just have time to shower and change before going to the office, but this would only mean postponement, and she had surely done enough of that already.

  'What is it, then?' Quentin persisted tersely.

  'I'd rather go straight back to the flat.'

  'Well, don't look so anguished,' he said curtly. 'No­thing's going to happen.'

  Something might, but not perhaps what he imagined!

  'I didn't imagine anything would.' She contrived to speak lightly.

  As her voice came over more carelessly than she intended, he bit out savagely, 'I expect you think I wouldn't have the nerve to follow up what I said to Margot Jones?'

  'That was as much my fault as yours.' She spoke huskily, her heart racing. Dear God, why couldn't he shut up? What devious delight did he derive from taunt­ing her so?

  'Hmm,' he turned his head slightly to consider her thoughtfully, 'why did you come out with that, Gina? You said earlier you weren't jealous.'

  'Well…' she stammered, beginning to realise she could be on dangerous ground.

  'Sooner or later,' he drawled conversationally, 'it may come to that, you know. Either that, or we part for good.'

  Gina was trembling on both counts, and he probably knew it. Was he trying to force the responsibility of such a decision on her? Had seeing Margot Jones made him regret his hasty marriage, which wasn't really a marriage at all? Well, the confession she was shortly to make might bring things to a head. She had rejected him unfairly, and in return he had rejected her, and never in all the weeks of their marriage had he given any serious indica­tion of changing his mind. Now she suspected he was trying to force her into a corner, from which he probably hoped she would flee, never to return again!

  Such dramatic thoughts played havoc with Gina's abi­lity to think straight. All she could whisper was, 'I have to talk to you, but not here.'

  She was mortified that Quentin merely looked bored. 'I think we're both too tired. Leave it until I get home tonight.'

  'Tonight? Oh, I see. It's already a new day.'

  'A new day?' He appeared to be pondering over that, because he laughed, turning away from her cynically. 'Is it? Who would have guessed?'

  He didn't mention supper again but took her straight back to the apartment.

  'Where's Hardy?' she whispered.

  'He has his own quarters, in the basement,' Quentin shrugged, as they went upstairs.

  Gina shivered, not because of this but because she was trying to decide where to begin. She couldn't leave it!

  'You made quite an impression tonight.' As if sensing the tension in her and seeking to relieve it with a little light teasing, he smiled. 'I shall have to watch you in future.'

  In future? Did he really mean them to have one— together? Hope swept through her, briefly dispersing some of the unhappiness from her facie. Anxiously she turned to him. Perhaps if she explained carefully he would be tolerant? 'Quentin—?' she began.

  'No, Gina.' Silencing her abruptly, he held up his hand, 'Haven't I told you, no more tonight. I think you'd be better in bed.'

  Painfully she bit her lip. Maybe he was right. She had tried, but he wouldn't listen. It might be a better idea to wait, after all, for no matter what she said he seemed determined to forestall her. Wearily she nodded her shin­ing head, then found herself smiling ruefully as something occurred to her. 'I've just remembered, I've brought nothing to sleep in. You'll have to loan me a pair of pyja­mas.'

  'That's my fault.' He seemed relieved that she was being sensible. 'I rushed you away from Briarly without mentioning that you'd be staying here, but you're cer­tainly welcome to my pyjamas, if they'll do.'

  'Yes,' she said, 'they'll be fine.'

  'Just as long as you don't get lost in them,' he grinned, eyeing her much smaller proportions.

  'No, I won't,' she said hastily. 'Could you leave them on my bed while I wash, please?'

  Quentin didn't say anything, but when she finished in the bathroom she found them placed neatly on her pillow. They were, as he had suggested, much too big for her, but she rolled up the legs and sleeves. At least they covered every bit of her.

  Before she got into bed, feeling the beginnings of a head­ache coming on, she decided to go down to the kitchen for some aspirin. There was none that she could discover in the bathroom, but she couldn't find any in the kitchen, either. So there was nothing for it but to ask Quentin. Her head was so very muzzy from the wine she had drunk that if she didn't get something she mightn't be able to get out of bed in the morning. Then what would Hardy think!

  It must be rather unusual, she thought, for a wife not to know where her husband slept. Uncertainly she knocked on the door next to her own, but on receiving no answer made her way to the next. It was then that dis­aster overtook her. One of the rolled up legs of Quentin's pyjamas fell down, tripping her up and bringing her crashing down on to the carpet that covered the corridor.

  She didn't think she had made a lot of noise, but it was sufficient to bring Quentin running. She was struggling to her feet by the time he got there, and was indignant that he had the effrontery to laugh as she tried to extricate herself from what seemed like miles of green silk pyjamas and the heavy, tumbling mass of her long red hair.

  Instantly, seeing her distress, he placed his hands on her shaking shoulders to steady her. 'What on earth were you trying to do?' he asked, his laughter fading grimly.

  Gina gulped, endeavouring to find breath to explain about the aspirin, when everything seemed to die in her throat. Without quite realising what was happening, she found herself clinging to him, her arms going wildly around him. 'Quentin,' she whispered helplessly, her face buried against his bare chest, tears streaming unchecked down her hot cheeks.

  He stiffened, then caught her tightly to him, savagely uttering a smothered oath as he pulled her fiercely into his arms. He didn't speak, he appeared to decide words weren't necessary as he swept her up and strode with her into his room, sharply closing the door. It was as if some­thing inside him had given way before primitive forces he could no longer control. There was only the harsh rasp of his breathing as he laid her on the bed and came down beside her.

  Gina's senses reeled. Again she tried to speak, but nothing came. She felt dizzy, her eyes dazed and she knew she was slowly breaking. All of a sudden she didn't care any more. Why go on fighting him, torturing herself? After he knew the truth he might never want her again.

  He did now. Not even her innocence could hide from her the urgency in the hard body crushing hers. Blindly she turned her head to press trembling lips against his cheek, as he bent to kiss her throat.

  'Gina,' he groaned, all the anger and coldness of the last weeks leaving him, his voice warm with desire.

  His mouth moved over her bare shoulders, back to her face, as naked they clung together. She wasn't sure what had happened to the green silk pyjamas, but they sud­denly weren't there any more. Neither were his.

  'Gina,' he groaned again, his mouth moving over her lips, 'how I've wanted you! All the time—beyond endu­rance .. .'

  He muttered more, as he parted her lips passionately, but her ringing ears prevented her from hearing much of what he said. Her limbs were invaded by a curious leth­argy as his kisses became deeper and hungrier, more inti­mately demanding, and she could only cling to him, feel­ing herself growing weaker and more helpless.

  She shuddered as his hands teased the rosy peaks of her taut breasts,
until she was overwhelmingly aware that this wasn't enough. She had to be closer. No longer could she deny herself the satisfaction of belonging to him com­pletely.

  'Love me, Quentin,' she moaned, 'please love me.' Nothing else seemed to matter.

  She didn't have to ask him twice. With urgent insist­ence his mouth crushed hers, and soon he had her bones turning to water, as he caressed her until she melted against him, making her need as great as his own. Then, as though he knew the exact moment, his hands were curving under her hips and the full weight of his body was no longer to be escaped, or denied her.

  There was pain, but this almost immediately dissolved in incredible pleasure, her first frightened cry being lost against his lips and soon forgotten. It was like a battle. They had wanted each other for so long, but they couldn't have guessed the potency of the final outcome. The strength of the waves of burning passion which swept them wildly into realms of rapture which not even Quen­tin, with his greater experience, had ever known before.

  Afterwards, Gina was so tired she fell asleep almost at once, with Quentin's arms still around her, holding her tightly, as if she were something very precious. She was drowsy when she woke with the first light, to find him propped on an elbow, staring down at her.

  Sleepily she smiled at him, conscious of nothing in that first moment of awakening but a sense of well-being. At first it didn't seem odd that he didn't smile back. She wasn't immediately worried. It seemed enough that they were together.

  But as his stare grew prolonged and he still didn't speak, she lifted a shy hand to tentatively touch his face. 'Darling?' she murmured eagerly, very aware now of what had happened between them.

  He tensed at the touch of her fingers on his skin, but his eyes were still hard as he asked derisively. 'Well? And how do you feel this morning, Gina, now that you're really the wife of a thief?'

  So that was what was wrong? Shocked, she shrank away from him, and, as memory flooded back, she cried, 'You don't understand, Quentin. I know you aren't a—a thief. Grandfather told me yesterday.'

  'Your grandfather?'

  'Yes…' She was very muddled and distracted. Words began tumbling out the wrong way because she didn't want to talk. All she wanted was for Quentin to make love to her again. She wanted to put her arms around him, to rub her cheek against his. To have him kiss her and hold her close, until she could scarcely breathe—or think. 'It just came out by mistake, I suppose.'

  'So you decided to make sure of me?'

  'Make sure of you?' she croaked.

  'You don't have to sound so bewildered, darling.' His heavy sarcasm came over quite clearly, widening her eyes with apprehension. 'You didn't want to be the wife of a poor man, who took money from defenceless old men, but you didn't mind belonging to a rich one.'

  'No, Quentin,' suddenly she began to realise what he was getting at, 'it wasn't the money. At least,' she tried to be honest, 'it wasn't so much that I thought you'd taken it from Grandfather, it was more that you seemed to be making no effort to pay it back.'

  He ignored that. 'You didn't trust me.'

  'No,' Gina agreed dully, her face bleak as she suddenly realised the weight of evidence against her, 'No, I suppose I didn't. Someone told me, a few days before we were married, that you'd lost all your money and had bor­rowed from my grandfather, and I believed them,' she whispered, shamefaced.

  'Yet you went ahead and married me?'

  'I was going to do that, anyway.'

  'Why?' he snapped savagely.

  She shook her head hopelessly. She couldn't tell him one of the reasons had been she loved him, not when he had never said he loved her. 'I'm not sure,' she replied evasively. 'I believe I had some foolish ideas about re­venge. I remembered how you used to say I was untidy, and treated me as though I was just a foolish child. That sort of thing, you know.'

  'Yes, I know,' he said grimly, 'but I was convinced you were beginning to forget.'

  'I was,' she confessed bitterly, 'until this other came up. It seemed to bring it all back.'

  'And the money was what was really behind your re­fusal to consummate our marriage? Why you insisted on having only a short honeymoon in Vienna?'

  Unhappily she nodded, tears gathering in her eyes even to think of it. 'I'm sorry, Quentin.'

  'Not half as, sorry as I was.' His mouth went tight as he watched her cheeks grow pink under her tears. 'Have you any idea how I suffered?'

  Swallowing hard, she whispered again, 'I'm sorry. I did try to tell you, last night, that I knew it was Grand­father who'd borrowed money from you, but you wouldn't listen.'

  'You couldn't have tried very hard,' he observed cut­tingly. 'I don't suppose it occurred to you that without my support you and your grandfather would be penni­less? Obviously you decided to make sure I couldn't get rid of you so easily.'

  'No!' She felt flayed by his vindictive tones and beyond everything but the truth. 'I love you, Quentin. When you began making love to me I forgot everything else.'

  Clearly he didn't believe her, because he made no reply. Instead, he left the bed and reached for his dressing gown. 'Hardy will take you home,' he said, watching cynically as she struggled to cover herself with the sheet he had thrown aside. 'I'll see you this evening, when we can discuss what we're going to do. A separation might be better for both of us, I'm only sorry it can't now be an annulment. Don't worry, though, you won't lose out, whatever you choose. I'll see you have more than enough to live on, although you certainly won't be living with me.'

  Gina must have lain stunned for almost an hour after he left. He didn't return and she was quite convinced he meant every word he said.

  At nine she rose, feeling terribly shaken but knowing she couldn't go back to Briarly yet. Mrs Hurst would only need to glance at her to see something was wrong, and she would hate that. She had only her evening dress, but because it was made of fine material she was able to hitch it up over a belt, under her fur coat. Her gold slippers looked slightly ridiculous, but they would have to do. No one would notice, and what did it matter if they did? Leaving a note for Hardy in the hall, to say she wouldn't need him, she slipped out unobserved.

  She was never sure exactly where she walked that day, or how far. For hours she wandered around the shops, staring sightlessly in windows, and when she grew cold she went inside. It was late October and people were be­ginning their Christmas shopping and the stores were busy. No one looked twice at a small, redheaded girl with a haunted expression. At lunch time she discovered she had enough for a cup of coffee and afterwards she went to a park and sat staring at nothing in particular. She didn't notice when it began to rain, or that she was getting wetter by the minute. The rain streaming down her face merely mixed with the tears. She couldn't even think about Quentin. When she did there was so much pain she couldn't bear it. Her life was ruined because of her own foolishness—she had no one but herself to blame.

  It was late, and dark, when she realised she couldn't stay out all night. Already a couple of men had given her suggestive glances which had penetrated even her thick fog of unhappiness and frightened her, Reluctantly she decided to go back to the flat. Quentin would be at Briarly and she had nothing to fear from Hardy. He was too well trained to ask questions.

  Ringing the doorbell with fingers so numb she could scarcely press it, she was startled by the speed with which the door opened. To her amazement and dismay Quentin stood there.

  'Gina!' his dark face was distraught. 'Oh, my God. Thank God!' she heard him breathing repeatedly, as she fainted dead away. 'Thank God you've come back!'

  When she came round she was lying on the big sofa in the lounge, wrapped in rugs, with Quentin bending over her, moistening her lips with brandy and rubbing her hands. Hardy was hovering just as anxiously in the back­ground, but when she opened her eyes he was quickly dismissed.

  'Oh, Gina,' Quentin groaned, for seconds appearing almost too moved to speak, 'are you feeling better? I've been worried sick—you've given us a terrible fright!'<
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  Uncertainly Gina blinked, scrubbing a weak tear from her eye. She felt all right. The frightening numbness was going, dispelled by the warmth of the room. Her glance wandered to Quentin's face and she saw how pale he was. She would have expected him to look angry instead of full of remorse.

  'I'm sorry, Quentin,' she bent her head, 'I didn't mean to alarm anyone but I was so miserable I had to get away. I just walked and walked.'

  'And I've searched and searched!' As though recalling every minute of it, his face contorted grimly. 'You weren't at Briarly, or with your grandfather. You weren't here. I even checked with the police. I've had to ring them and report you've been found.'

  Startled, Gina asked, 'Have you been looking long? I wish I'd known . ..'

  'Since ten this morning,' he replied harshly, his grip tightening on her slender hands. 'That was when I rea­lised I couldn't do without you, but you weren't here and I've gone through the tortures of hell trying to find you.'

  'It wasn't your fault,' she said huskily. 'I ought to have trusted you, as I said before.'

  'No,' he hushed her bleakly, 'I can understand now how you felt, now I've had time to think it over. This morning I was too full of stiff pride, just as I was when you rejected me on our honeymoon. You were young and unsure, and if I'd been more understanding I would have had more patience. I'd have taken time to discover what was troubling you—and I knew something was. I should have explained about the money and told you that I loved you instead of letting you wonder why I'd married you, and things deteriorate between us.'

  'You love me?' Her voice croaked with incredulity while she closed her eyes against another storm of quick tears. It didn't seem possible!

  'Gina?' Anxiously he put a gentle arm around her, 'Of course I love you, but you can't be feeling well enough to talk. Later perhaps,' grimly he smoothed back her damp hair. 'I think, right now, I should be sending for a doctor.'

  'No,' she shook her head, quickly and truthfully, 'I'm feeling fine, honestly I am! If you'll just tell me when you began loving me, it will do me more good than anything else.'