Whispers of Love

by Whispers of Love (retail) (epub)

  She saw him frowning at the sight of them as he crossed to the drinks cabinet and took out a bottle of sherry and poured them both a glassful. He sat down on the sofa and patted the seat beside him.

  ‘We must have a talk,’ he said tersely. ‘I need to know how you come to know George.’

  ‘We met in Switzerland. I was working as a nurse-companion to his sister Fiona when she was recuperating from tuberculosis,’ she said briefly.

  ‘I see.’ His lips curled sardonically. ‘And what happened to your patient?’

  She was silent for a moment, staring down at her hands which she held tightly clasped in her lap.

  ‘Her parents came and decided to take her home.’

  ‘And left you behind in St Moritz?’

  ‘They wanted to take her to see a new specialist in London. For personal reasons I didn’t want to return to England right away,’ she said stiffly.

  ‘You mean you decided to stay behind with George?’ The mockery in his voice made colour flare in her cheeks.

  ‘George was my patient’s brother. He was very kind to me and always the perfect gentleman,’ she defended.

  ‘Aah! His sort usually are,’ he commented dryly.

  ‘His sort?’ She frowned. ‘What exactly do you mean?’

  He looked at her, raising his eyebrows mockingly. ‘Are you telling me you don’t know about George and his sort?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘He’s never tried to make love to you all the time you’ve lived with him?’

  ‘Of course not. We’re good friends and he’s always been the perfect gentleman.’

  ‘That’s because he doesn’t care for women; not in the way most men do,’ Alex told her dryly.

  Christabel felt the colour flooding her cheeks. She had never thought about it before, and what about the servant girls Fiona had mentioned? She’d never quite believed that. In a way she’d been grateful that there was only camaraderie between her and George because she still hadn’t put Philip out of her heart.

  ‘You don’t think that any red-blooded man could share his flat but not his bed with someone as attractive as you?’ Alex questioned.

  That night, Alex didn’t sleep on the sofa.

  Alex was an experienced lover. When, shaking with nerves, Christabel told him she’d only ever made love once and that had been with Philip before he’d left on his fatal voyage, he smiled and told her not to worry.

  He taught her so much, showed her that loving could be an art as well as a physical release. He was such an exciting lover that when she was in his arms she felt as if she was being transported to another world and no two journeys were ever the same.

  Sometimes he was gentle, his strong, sensitive fingers tuning her body to its ultimate pitch. The quick-breathing eagerness of his mouth, as he explored every inch of her skin with the utmost delicacy, carried her to heady and exhilarating peaks of excitement.

  At other times he could be harsh, demanding and almost brutal; intent on his own satisfaction and oblivious of whether he hurt her or not. Even these moments brought a wild ecstasy to her senses until she cried out for release, with a rhythm and ferocity that matched his own.

  Her feelings for him were so intense that she couldn’t bear the thought of losing him. Yet, for all his momentary fervour and passion, he was cold. As the months passed she was concerned because she felt she had no hold over him at all except their lovemaking. It worried her. She didn’t want this to be a casual relationship; she wanted to spend the rest of her life with Alex Taylor. Above all, she wanted marriage.

  As the time approached for George to be released from prison she decided to put Alex’s feelings for her to the test so she suggested they should visit Liverpool so that he could meet her mother and brother. To her delight, he agreed and said they would drive up there in his new Alvis motor car.

  ‘Does your family know that we’ve been living together?’ he asked as they left London behind them and headed North.

  ‘No, of course not. Mother would be horrified. She thinks I am still in Switzerland nursing.’

  They were both silent, lost in their separate thoughts as they covered the miles between London and Liverpool. Even when they stopped to refuel the car and took a break for refreshments, Alex had very little to say.

  It was early evening when they finally reached Liverpool and she directed him to her home. Christabel felt a sense of unease as she introduced Alex to her mother who seemed to be looking much frailer than she remembered. Her hair was now quite white, her round face showed a network of fine lines under her eyes.

  ‘Would you and your friend like to freshen up before we sit down to a meal, Christabel?’ she enquired after asking Alex if they’d had a good journey.

  ‘I’ve put your friend in Lewis’s old room, so can you show him where it is? Your room is exactly as you left it,’ she added with a faint smile. ‘This time there has been no one using it while you’ve been away,’ she assured her.

  It felt good to be home. Christabel lingered in her bedroom, touching the familiar furniture, looking at the pictures and ornaments that she’d treasured as she was growing up.

  She flung wide the window and leaned out, smelling the cold tang of the Mersey. The glow from rows of street lights patterned her view reminding her that the nights were drawing in and that summer was almost over.

  Like my life, she thought, as she combed her hair and renewed her lipstick. I’ve reached my thirties, my spring days are over. I’m becoming an old maid. She smiled confidently at her reflection. She would marry soon. She was sure that Alex was on the point of proposing, possibly either tonight or tomorrow.

  She found that Alex was already downstairs and in the drawing room with Lilian and Marlene. She paused in the doorway, struck by the contrast they made; her sister and niece both being so petite and fair seemed to make Alex look even darker.

  She stood there unnoticed for several moments watching with amusement as Marlene demanded his full attention. Marlene was no longer the chubby toddler Christabel remembered her as but a plump little six-year-old with a halo of fair curls. Because of all the attention she’d had from her mother and grandmother in the intervening years she was now an extremely precocious little chatterbox.

  To her surprise, Alex seemed to enjoy Marlene’s company and when Lilian said that she and Marlene would take him for a walk the next morning he readily agreed.

  ‘It will give you the opportunity to have more time with Mother,’ Lilian explained to her. ‘I’m sure there are lots of things you want to talk about and you won’t get much of a chance when Marlene is around.’

  It wasn’t what Christabel wanted; she wanted to be with Alex, to be the one to show him familiar landmarks. She was also looking forward to taking him to meet Lewis and Violet and, above all, Kay.

  Most of the time she only half listened to what her mother was saying because her own thoughts were distracted by wondering about what Lilian was saying to Alex.

  She did, however, become interested when her mother started telling her about the problems Lilian was having with Dennis.

  ‘He ill-treats her, you know. Sometimes she has terrible bruises. Mind, he is always very careful and they are always where they don’t show, or where, if they do, Lilian can cover them up. Her arms are often black and blue and she says there are marks on her back and other parts of her body that would shock me if she showed them to me.’

  ‘He never hits Marlene though, does he?’ Christabel asked.

  ‘No, that’s one good thing. He does treat Lilian very badly, though; he’s quite a brute when he doesn’t get his own way, especially when he’s been drinking.’

  ‘Perhaps you should ask Lewis to have a word with him,’ Christabel suggested. ‘Would you like me to mention it to him?’

  ‘No.’ Her mother shook her head. ‘I haven’t told him about it because I know how busy he is. I am sure that if I did, he would only say that what goes on between husband and wife is their affair
and refuse to interfere.’

  When Christabel went to see Lewis she fully intended mentioning the matter, but all her attention was taken up by seeing Kay again. She, too, had changed in the ensuing years and was now a leggy nine-year-old and rather quiet and reserved. She had straight dark hair in a pigtail and a rather severe fringe, and Christabel felt it was like looking at one of the photographs of herself at that age. There was still a special affinity between them and Kay seemed to be delighted to see her. She even said how much she’d missed her and was eager to tell her all about what she did at school.

  The weekend passed all too quickly and even though Alex hadn’t whispered the magic words she was waiting to hear, she considered it to have been a pleasant interlude.

  As she fastened the locks on her suitcase and prepared to leave she wondered if he might propose on the way home.

  Humming to herself she went downstairs and was pleased to find Alex deep in conversation with her mother. They stopped talking as she walked into the room and Christabel sensed tension in the air. She wondered what they’d been talking about and looked from one to the other enquiringly, but neither of them made any attempt to enlighten her.

  The weekend was far from being the success Christabel had hoped it would be. Alex hadn’t proposed; in fact, he had seemed to be on edge and was anxious to get back to London. The only good thing about the trip had been seeing Kay again.

  When she asked Alex if he’d enjoyed their visit, he was so curt that she felt mystified. He didn’t seem to want to talk; it was as if his mind was fully occupied with some problem. When she asked him what was worrying him he was so evasive that she felt uneasy and wondered if it was what her mother had said to him that had upset him so much.

  They were both silent on the return journey. When they reached London she couldn’t believe she had heard aright when Alex said he would drop her back at George’s flat.

  ‘I have a business meeting to go to in the morning and I need time tonight to prepare what I am going to say, so I won’t be very good company,’ he explained.

  ‘All my make-up and things are at your flat,’ she protested.

  ‘You can come and collect them some time tomorrow,’ he told her brusquely as he lifted her suitcase out from the back of the Alvis and handed it to her.

  ‘Collect them? What on earth do you mean, Alex?’

  ‘George will be home in a couple of days’ time, so you’ll need to get things ready for him. Can you come and collect your stuff in the evening?’ he added crisply, ignoring all her questions as he slipped back behind the wheel and put the car into gear ready to drive away.

  Christabel didn’t answer. She felt too choked by tears to trust her voice. She had no idea what had happened between them that was making him react in such a way and too much pride to question his decision.

  Whatever could her mother have said to him that had made him change towards her so suddenly? she wondered, feeling bewildered and utterly distraught. It was as if Alex had no feelings for her or her welfare at all. He was virtually throwing her out on to the street.

  As all her expectations of marriage to Alex came crashing down around her she was now positively looking forward to George coming out of prison.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Christabel soon discovered that prison life had changed George. Gone was his easy-going, happy-go-lucky approach to life. He was moody, bitter and increasingly short-tempered. An added blow to his pride was the fact that the understudy, who had taken over his part in the theatre, had proved to be such a good actor that it had been decided to keep him on in the role. George was offered an understudy part; when he turned it down his contract was terminated.

  Christabel suspected the decision had been made by Alex but she said nothing. She’d neither seen nor spoken to him since their weekend in Liverpool. When she had gone round to his flat the following evening she’d found that the locks had been changed and she was unable to get in. Two days later a courier had arrived with all her belongings; she’d looked in vain to see if there was a note inside from Alex, but there wasn’t one.

  Now that George was home Christabel felt as if she was living under a cloud that was becoming ever darker. Invariably, he was under the influence of alcohol and his mood was morose and argumentative. Often he stayed in bed until midday and then mooched around the flat half-dressed, finding fault with everything she did.

  Because he was no longer going to the theatre he sat in a dejected trance, drinking whisky and fiddling with his wireless, searching out new stations, until she felt that she could scream from listening to the weird distorted sounds, high-pitched shrieks and other strange, oscillating noises.

  She tried to ignore what was happening by playing records, often the same ones, over and over on her gramophone, and playing them so loudly that the loudspeaker sent the sound of jazz echoing into every corner of the flat.

  Their nerves were stretched to breaking point and they quarrelled incessantly. Neither of them, it seemed, could do right in the other’s eyes. Often Christabel would put on her coat and walk the streets, wondering what to do for the best.

  The answer came in a way she’d never even contemplated. She returned one afternoon to find George frantically packing his belongings into suitcases.

  ‘Collect up what you can of your things, we’ve got to get out as quickly as possible,’ he told her. ‘I’ve not paid the rent for months and the landlord is sending the bailiffs round; they’ll grab anything they can lay their hands on.’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  George paused and looked up from what he was doing. ‘I’m going back home, but I don’t know what you are going to do,’ he told her bluntly.

  Ten minutes later they were both standing on the pavement outside.

  ‘Here’, he fished in his pocket and brought out a crumpled five-pound note, ‘this will help tide you over. Take care of yourself,’ he added as he hailed a taxi.

  Christabel felt shocked. George didn’t want her, Alex had changed the locks on his flat, so what on earth was she going to do? she wondered. She didn’t have a job or even enough money to rent a room, so it was impossible for her stay on in London. There was only one thing she could do, and that was to go back home.

  Her mother seemed rather surprised to see her, but Christabel explained her visit by saying that she hadn’t been feeling well and thought she needed a holiday.

  ‘Oh, I thought you’d come because your friend is staying here for a few days,’ her mother commented, giving her a shrewd look.

  ‘My friend?’ Christabel looked puzzled.

  ‘Yes, dear. That rather nice young man you brought down from London.’

  The colour drained from Christabel’s face. ‘Do you mean Alex Taylor?’

  ‘That’s right! He’s been such a wonderful help and support to Lilian, that I sometimes wonder how she would ever have got through this dreadful divorce business without him,’ Mabel commented.

  ‘You’re talking in riddles, Mother. What divorce?’

  ‘Lilian and Dennis, of course dear. I thought I told you about it when you were here. Didn’t you see it in the newspaper? The Liverpool Echo had a lovely picture of Lilian.’

  ‘It wasn’t in the London papers,’ Christabel told her.

  ‘What a pity, it was such a lovely one. Alex went to court with her. He’s been such a tower of strength, and so attentive ever since. He’s been taking Lilian out and about to try and take her mind off what she’s been through,’ Mrs Montgomery went on guilelessly, completely unaware that each word was like a knife turning inside Christabel.

  ‘Where are they now?’ Christabel interrupted, cutting short her mother’s burbling.

  ‘They’ve taken little Marlene over to Wallasey. Your Aunt Agnes hasn’t been too well and I sent her over a pot of quince jelly because it always was a favourite of hers. Our own mother always used to give it to us when we were children if we weren’t feeling well and I thought it might bring back memories for Agnes
and cheer her up. I daresay she already has some in her own store cupboard that she’s made herself, but it was about the only thing I could think of . . .’

  ‘When will they be back?’

  ‘Oh, they’ll be home in time for dinner and it will be quite a surprise for them to find you here!’

  ‘Yes, it will, Mother. You won’t say a word to either of them, will you? Would it be OK if I went up to my room and stayed there until dinner time? I’m so tired.’

  Mabel looked bewildered. ‘Yes, dear, if that’s what you want to do.’

  Christabel spent a long time deciding what she would put on. She wanted to look glamorous enough to impress Alex, and put Lilian into the shade. Yet, at the same time, Christabel thought, she didn’t want to rouse her mother’s suspicions that there was a feud developing between her and Lilian. All her memories of what had happened when she’d brought Dennis home had been revived.

  It had only been a question of her pride being hurt when Dennis had taken up with Lilian, but this time it was different. At her age, it was high time she was married and settled down, she thought grimly, and Alex was the man she wanted to marry.

  She heard Lilian and Alex return, and her sister’s simpering laugh and Alex’s deep chuckle at something Marlene had said. She pictured them all together in the room downstairs as Marlene had her supper and said goodnight to them all before Lilian took her upstairs and tucked her into bed.

  She gave Lilian time to go back down again and to relay any messages from Aunt Agnes to her mother, and for all of them to sit down at the dinner table, before she put in an appearance.

  ‘Hello, everyone!’ Christabel paused dramatically in the doorway and felt elated as she saw the look of shock on both their faces.

  She had chosen a knee-skimming slinky red dress and draped a black silk scarf at the neckline and she knew she looked sensational. Her gaze rested on Alex, curious to see his reaction. She was not disappointed. There was open admiration in his dark eyes, and his smile was so warm and intimate that for a moment it was as if they were the only two people in the room.