`Don't cry all over it or it'll melt!'
She looked mistily at him, blinking back the tears that threatened. 'You didn't have to,' she said huskily.
`Do you like it?' he ignored her protest.
`It's beautiful,' she told him, 'but much too expensive,' and much as she would loved to have worn it even for a short while, she made to give it back to him. 'I can't take it, Ben,' she said quietly. 'I can't let you spend your money on me like this,' then hurriedly as he looked ready to explode, 'I would be giving it back to you when our marriage is over anyway.' The earlier atmosphere of calm hadn't lasted very long, she thought, as she waited for his volcanic eruption.
There was no doubting his coldly controlled anger, as he said, 'The ring is yours, Tiffany, to keep, regardless of whether or not we part— Is that clear?'
His quiet anger was unarguable with and though words sprang to her lips Tiffany took one look at the granite hardness in his face and thought better of it. The mood he was in now, he looked capable of anything.
The coffee was drunk in grim silence, Tiffany having the greatest difficulty in swallowing hers, though not prepared to let him see he had defeated her by going to bed without any. Her coffee cup empty, honour satisfied, she stood up, and forced herself to wish him a cool. 'Goodnight.'
His, 'Goodnight,' was chilling. She made it to her bedroom thinking she'd give anything to be able to have a good cry, but she felt beyond tears. Again she recalled the eagerness with which she had hurried to the flat, her every hope pinned on Ben being there, and she could have broken her heart, she felt so utterly despairing. 'Regardless of whether or not we part,' he had said, almost as if there was some doubt about it. She took no joy from that statement, the look had accompanied his words had told her the sooner it ended the better he would like it.
About to get undressed, she became aware she was clutching the box containing the ring. Without conscious thought the box was opened. It really was beautiful and as though in a trance Tiffany slipped the solitaire next to her wedding ring, knowing it would fit as Ben already had her ring size.
She stood looking at it for some time, then suddenly lifted her head, her admiration of the ring forgotten. Ben was outside her door, she heard his quiet, 'Tiffany,' but remained motionless for several seconds until she heard him move away. She had no idea what he wanted, but knew she would not be able to cope with his temper, might even add a little of her own. But the cold anger that had bit into her when she had wanted to return his ring was something
outside her experience and she couldn't face it again, not tonight anyway.
Almost furtively in case he should hear and know she was not already in bed, Tiffany eased a drawer open and took out one of her new nightdresses. Aunt Margery had done her proud with her trousseau, she thought, not for the first time. She shook out the nightie that was a dream of lemon nylon and lace and popped it over her head; it concealed her figure but was fine enough to torment the imagination of any new husband. Oh, Aunty, Tiffany groaned inwardly, if only you knew ... ! Getting into bed, she willed sleep to come and take her into oblivion; the engagement ring still on her finger was small comfort to her tortured thoughts, Ben was going off early in the morning and it could be months before she saw him again.
A nagging pain in her jaw brought Tiffany up from the depths of sleep. She tried pressing her cheek into the pillow, but the pain was still there, and after a few minutes of wrestling against toothache and the need for sleep, her toothache won and she sat up, switching on her bedside lamp and reaching for her watch. A quarter to one. She looked about her helplessly, not wanting to make a noise, but knowing with the ache in her jaw going from pain to agony she couldn't put up with it for much longer without trying to do something about it.
Slipping out of bed, she tiptoed to the door, and trying to be as quiet as possible pattered to the bathroom hoping there would be some aspirins in the medical cabinet there. Her need for aspirin was urgent as she reached up to the cabinet, the agony in her gum driving out her sense of caution—never had she known such pain! Holding a tumbler under the tap, a bottle of aspirin resting in the wash basin, Tiffany went to turn off the tap and felt the glass slipping from her hand. She held her breath as it
clattered noisily around the white porcelain, and made a hasty grab to stay its noise. She listened—silence. Thank heaven she hadn't woken Ben. Congratulating herself that the glass was still in one piece, the flat quiet once more, she nearly jumped out of her skin to hear a sound behind her. Whipping round, she saw Ben raking his fingers back through his hair as he came close.
`I've got toothache,' she said woefully, by way of an apology for waking him.
Ben sized up the situation right away, his eyes taking in the bottle of aspirin, the glass in her hand and Tiffany's eyes wide and haunted with pain as she looked at him
`Get into bed, I'll mix these for you,' he said kindly, all ill will forgotten.
It wasn't until she was back in her room that Tiffany realised she hadn't bothered to put on her robe. At any other time she would have gone scarlet with embarrassment, but her toothache had forced modesty into the background.
Barely had she got into bed when Ben was standing over her. He handed her ,a glass of the soluble aspirin and she downed it quickly. She saw him glance at the engagement ring on her finger and didn't know whether she was glad or sorry she had gone to bed wearing it. All she knew was that her whole jaw hurt and she was having a hard time in keeping him from knowing the misery she was feeling. `Thank you,' she murmured as Ben took the glass from her. She wanted him to go—needed the comfort of him with her, but couldn't bear him to see her in this state of weakness.
`Poor baby,' he said gently, pulling the covers up over her shoulders. 'Try and relax.' She felt his hand smoothing the hair back from her forehead, his hand so soothing. Was he undecided about something or was it her overstretched
imagination? His voice was gentle still as he asked, 'Shall I leave your small light on?'
`Yes, please.'
When he left her Tiffany tried to relax as he had instructed, tried to sleep, but it was no use. At half past one she was again sitting up, her mind darting desperately from one cure to another she had heard of for toothache. She even picked up a book and tried to read, but it was impossible.
Getting out of bed, she dragged on her robe and stole silently to the kitchen, closing the door noiselessly behind her. There she mixed a salt water rinse and found it helped—for all of two seconds. Ten minutes and a dozen salt water rinses later, she came to the conclusion that salt water was not the answer.
She was siting dejectedly on the settee a few minutes later, rubbing her aching gums with whisky from a glass in front of her, when Ben found her. He took one look at her, saw her eyes were large and unhappy, noted her distressed condition and came to a decision.
`Tiffany,' she looked up at him. 'Tiffany,' he repeated, `do you trust me?'
She had no idea what this was all about. All she knew was she had never felt so miserable in her life. Her, 'Of course, Ben,' was automatic. Of course she trusted him.
`Right,' he said in a tone that brooked no argument. `You're coming into my bed with me.' For a full ten seconds Tiffany was unaware of the raging torment in her jaw as she stared at him disbelievingly. `I've been listening to you roaming around for a quarter of an hour,' he told her, 'and I can't take any more. You're not giving the aspirin a chance to work.' His tone softened. 'Come on, Tiffany, we'll see if Uncle Ben's bed will do the trick.' Then without
further ado he was pulling her up from the settee, treating her as a father might.
Only he wasn't her father—he was her husband, Tiffany thought in agony, not knowing which was the worst torture, her toothache or the thought that she was going to be as close to Ben as though she was his proper wife. Once in the room he lost no time putting her into his bed.
`How much whisky have you had?' he asked.
`I'd only just got started,' she mumbled.
When his pyjama-clad body came into the bed beside her, Tiffany tensed, then heard him telling her to relax, telling her she looked about ten years old with her big eyes and mussed-up hair. The shock that had numbed her raging toothache at his suggestion she share his bed had worn off and the gnawing in her jaw was hammering away as hard as ever.
Then suddenly her tenseness left her and with it her independence, and with complete trust in the man lying at her side, she turned to him. It was as though her gesture had proved to him that she knew no harm would befall her, and she felt his comforting arm come round her flimsily covered shoulders as he pulled her towards him. She felt him press her aching jaw into the warmth of his shoulder as with his other hand he pulled the covers up round her, then that hand came beneath the covers to rest lightly on her waist. She heard the security of his, 'All right, poppet?' for all the world as though she was indeed ten years old. Tiffany snuggled her face into his warmth, his strength, and unbelievably the pain in her jaw began to lessen.
When she awoke from an aspirin-induced sleep it was to see the hands of the luminous clock saying it was nearly
six. Ben would have to get up soon, she thought. Then before she could think further on how she had come to be in his bed, she came wide awake with a jolt of shock that hit her senses like a lift plummeting from a high building, as it came to her fully that not only was she in bed with Ben, but that some time during the night, one of his hands had found its way to her breast and the pleasurable warmth she felt in that region was his hand cupping her. For seconds she was unaware of breathing as her body froze and she wondered what to do. If she moved and woke him, he would be equally horrified and it would make his kindly act of last night seem not the pure, clean act of comfort it had been.
Then there was no time or need for her to do anything, for he stirred, seemed to know in his half waking state that she was beside him and moved in closer to her; his hand on her breast closing in a caressing movement, and in that second he seemed to come sharply awake to where he was holding her. A word was quietly strangled from him before she could make out what it was he said, and he had shot out of bed as though the feel of her through her thin nightdress scorched him.
Tiffany's heart steadied when he had gone from the room, and she rolled over into the warm place he had so swiftly vacated. Her toothache was still playing background music, but it was reduced to a bearable pain. She savoured the feeling of being in Ben's bed, knowing that never again would her head rest on his pillow.
She heard him come back into the room, heard his careful opening of drawers so as not to waken her, and stirred, moving back on to her own pillow as though just waking.
`What time is it?' she asked sleepily.
There was a long pause before he told her it was six, then, 'How are you feeling?'
`Much better, thanks.' She sat up switching on the table lamp, as it was not yet daylight and he must be having a difficult time groping around for his things in the dark. `Thank you for—for looking after me last night.' She saw him more clearly as he came and sat on the edge of the bed. He had a robe on over his pyjamas and she saw the dark shadow of his unshaven chin.
`You'll go to the dentist this morning.' Was he asking her or ordering her? It didn't matter which, she thought as the love she felt for him swelled up within her.
`Oh, yes,' she assured him. 'I couldn't bear another night like last night.' She became confused suddenly. 'The pain, I mean,' then further confused in case he misunderstood, `Oh,' she said, and blushed furiously, and was rewarded by his grin.
`Do I take it you like being in my bed?' She just couldn't meet his eyes. 'That was an unfair question, wasn't it,' he said, relenting and getting to his feet. `Do you think a cup of tea would set your tooth off again? Try a lukewarm cup anyway.'
When he had left the flat, Tiffany was in no hurry to leave his bed. They had parted friends, but although she had hoped he might kiss her before he went, he hadn't. Realising if she was to get an emergency appointment with her dentist she would have to be on his doorstep early, she got up.
Her teeth, the dentist said, were perfect, and he had gone on to explain that her sinuses were infected and had affected her upper jaw; a course of antibiotics, she was assured, would cure the trouble. Tiffany could hardly believe him, because it had been a true and agonising toothache she had experienced. But after collecting her prescription from the chemist, she took the large pink tablets as directed and
found, much to her surprise, that the dentist had been right in his diagnosis, and that happily, when the time came for her to go back on duty, she was free from pain.
CHAPTER SEVEN
TIFFANY let herself into the flat feeling dull and despondent. It was now nine weeks since she had last seen Ben and she wouldn't be seeing him again this time. She had discreetly found out from the Crewing Office that his flight wasn't due in until Friday, and she would be flying somewhere over the Atlantic by then.
Nine weeks, she recalled, of hopes and fears and disappointment of not once catching a glimpse of him. Was this a foretaste of how she was going to feel when the marriage ended? She turned her thoughts away from that depressing thought. It wouldn't have been so bad if he had left some communication for her. Any sort of note would have done. Even a 'We're out of butter' type of note would have done—anything to indicate that he hadn't forgotten her existence.
During the time since she had last seen him she had done a couple of long haul trips, and after first checking that he wasn't due to arrive in her absence, had spent a few days with her aunt in Middledeane.
Patti Marshall had invited her to her party tonight, but she had refused the invitation, suspecting that since Patti's boy-friend Barry had been the one to introduce her to Nick Cowley, Nick was sure to be there too. It amazed her now to think she had ever thought herself in love with him; she didn't doubt he was deeply involved with her successor
by now. Her reasons, though, for not going to the party were not solely because she thought Nick might be there, but also because now that she was married she knew any acceptance would have been accompanied by a feeling of guilt.
But why feel guilty? she argued against her conscience. Hers wasn't a normal marriage, and Ben wouldn't care two pence if she went to a party unescorted. What had they got going for them in their marriage anyway? A few chaste kisses, one night in his bed when he had treated her, for the most part, as if she was a ten-year-old, a handful of companionable moments—if that, and that was all.
Tiffany glanced round the flat—it wag immaculate from her ministrations yesterday. There was a fruit cake she had made ready in an airtight tin for when Ben arrived. There was absolutely nothing she could do if she stayed in. She was too restless to want to listen to the radio, nothing she wanted to see on television—why was she making all these excuses? Why not go to Patti's party—other girls went to parties unescorted, didn't they?
She had the phone on her hand and was ringing Patti's number before her conscience could browbeat her into staying at home, and it was too late to back out once she'd heard Patti's delight when she said she would go after all.
`I'm so glad, Tiffany—it will do you a power of good to get out.'
`Oh ...?' What had caused Patti to say that?
`Well, if you don't mind my saying so,' Patti enlightened her, 'I thought you were more quiet than usual this last trip—withdrawn almost.'
That gave Tiffany food for thought. Her pride wouldn't allow her to let other people know she was eating her heart out for Ben, and when the time came to leave for the pub where they were all meeting prior to going on to
Patti's place, attired in the new dress she had bought only yesterday in an attempt to cheer herself up, Tiffany donned it a lighthearted manner that was going to fool anybody who thought she was going into a decline.
It even began to
work on her, she thought, when after she had decided to leave her car at home, the taxi dropped her off at the Jolly Brewer. She was feeling lighthearted, looking forward to the party, and even giggled at the mad impulse that had urged her to write a note to Ben, and her anticipation of the evening ahead in conversation with some of her friends was in no way lessened as the thought followed that she would be the one to take her note off the mantelpiece when she arrived home, for Ben was still thousands of miles away.
Opening the door of the lounge bar, she was almost deafened by the noise. Most of the party were here already, she saw, spotting Michael Croft obviously telling some risque story to the three or four men grouped round him. Patti saw her and called her over as a shout of laughter greeted the end of Michael's tale.
`What will you have to drink, Tiffany?' Barry, never far from Patti's side, for all the rough treatment she gave him, asked. Barry wasn't away long and was nearly up to them after coming back from the bar with the iced Cinzano and lemonade Tiffany had said she would like, when Nick Cowley stopped him.
`Have you heard this one?' he began, then seeing Patti from the corner of his eye, said, 'Er—perhaps not, ladies present,' and as his eyes moved further round to catch sight of Tiffany, a surprised exclamation of, `Tilly !' broke from him, to be followed by a thorough scrutiny as his eyes travelled over her, taking in her dress of pastel blue crepe with its fitted crossover bodice and lampshade sleeves flattering her slender arms.
He was trying to get near to her when Patti called, 'Drink up, everybody, let's make tracks for my place. There's plenty to eat, so I suggest we eat first and drink afterwards.' In the general exodus that followed, Tiffany lost sight of Nick, and though he now left her cold, womanlike, she couldn't help being pleased at the admiration she had seen in his eyes.
Turbulent Covenant Page 11