Love is Eternal

by Yvonne Whittal

  ‘Daniel ... no,’ she choked out the words, but Daniel crossed the space between their chairs and, gripping her left wrist with his one hand, he opened the small box with the other, lifting the rings from their satin cushions and slipping them on to her finger while she watched in stunned fascination how the stones glittered and sparkled warmly beneath the light.

  ‘That’s better,’ he said abruptly. ‘It’s good to have a wife again. ’

  ‘I don’t want to wear them,’ she argued helplessly as he drew her to her feet.

  ‘Do you find it so distasteful to belong to me?’ he demanded harshly, and she flinched inwardly.

  ‘I don’t belong to you,’ she whispered passionately. ‘I could never belong to a man like you.’

  ‘One day, Joanne ...’ he murmured, breaking the heavily

  charged silence between them. ‘One day I shall lose patience with you, and ...’ He muttered something unintelligible, drawing her so forcibly against him that the breath was almost knocked from her body as he kissed her hard and bruisingly on her soft lips. ‘Goodnight! ’

  The front door slammed shut behind him, but Joanne remained where she was, her fingers touching tender lips which could still feel the bruising mastery of his kiss. A flash of light caught her attention and, glancing down at her hand, she wasted no time in tearing the rings from her fingers and replacing them rather roughly in the small box Daniel had dropped on to the table beside her chair. She did not want his rings! She did not want to be possessed by such a cold brute of a man!

  ‘Oh, God!’ she moaned, sinking sideways into her chair and burying her face in the crook of her arm. ‘The trouble is, I want to be possessed by him, but more than anything I want to be loved. Loved, and not merely wanted. ’

  ‘How on earth can you live in such a jumbled, untidy atmosphere?’ Joanne demanded, her glance sliding over piles of books, files, sheets of paper on which notes had been taken down, university banners hanging from the walls, and left-over rag posters propped up against vases and bookcases. ‘Don’t the two of you ever spend some time sorting through everything and cleaning up the mess you make?’

  Bruce pushed back his chair and using his knee against the side of the table as a lever, he rocked himself gently, a boyish smile spreading over his face. ‘We like it the way it is, and don’t welcome feminine intervention in our strictly male lair.’

  ‘Then I should feel honoured that my presence has been welcomed, or am I not considered to be feminine?’

  Bruce shrugged, his eyes teasing wickedly. ‘There are times when one is forced to make allowances for a sister. ’ ‘If you’re not careful, I’ll throw something at you in a minute,’ Joanne laughed, piling the remainder of their supper dishes into the small sink, and opening the tap. ‘Are you going to help with the dishes?’

  ‘No,’ his arm came round her as he closed the tap. ‘And neither is there time for you to do anything. You’re going out, remember?’

  ‘We’re going out,’ she corrected, meeting his smiling glance.

  ‘Sure,’ he said impatiently, gripping her shoulders and propelling her from the kitchen. ‘Now get into that bathroom, and hurry it up, because I need it as well. ’

  ‘You know something?’ She turned to face him, her head tilted thoughtfully. ‘You’re becoming just as arrogantly bossy as ... ’

  ‘Yes?’ Bruce prompted as her voice trailed off into an embarrassed silence.

  ‘Never mind,’ she said abruptly, not wanting to discuss Daniel with Bruce. She was certain somehow that he knew of Daniel’s partnership in the Willowmead Clinic, but it was as though they had both meticulously avoided discussing the subject since her arrival that morning.

  This was the first time Bruce had actually invited her to stay at the flat he shared with a fellow student, Joanne thought as she soaked in the scented water for a moment before soaping her body. Usually she stayed at a hotel close by, but on this occasion Bruce had insisted that, with his friend away for the week-end, she would be welcome to rough it with him.

  Roughing was the operative word, she thought, a smile curving her lips. How they managed to look after themselves she would never know, but there seemed to be no shortage of tinned food in the cupboards, and Bruce had assured her that the restaurant on the corner of their block served an excellent meal which they could afford if they were really hungry, and the laundry across the street took care of their dirty linen and clothes.

  Bruce’s impatient thumping on the bathroom door made her hurry out of the bath, drying herself vigorously until her skin tingled before she pulled on a bath robe and called to him that the bathroom was vacant.

  Less than an hour later Joanne stood glancing at herself critically in the mirror. Green was not always her favourite colour as it invariably clashed with her eyes, but she had been unable to resist this leafy-green chiffon gown with its wide sleeves and delicate lacework at her narrow waist. The effect was altogether pleasing, she decided finally as she swivelled about in front of the tall mirror.

  She had left her hair loose for this occasion, something which she rarely did, and it fell softly to her shoulders, the golden-brown sheen accentuated by the light directly above her. About her neck she wore a single string of pearls which had once been her mother’s, and matching earrings were fastened to her small ear lobes. She wanted to look her best, she thought happily. It was not often that her brother offered to take her out.

  The doorbell chimed loudly as she placed her white silk wrap and evening bag on the foot of the bed, and she was still hesitating as to what to do when Bruce called from the room next to hers.

  ‘Will you answer that, Jo?’

  ‘Were you expecting anyone?’ she asked, hovering outside the door.

  ‘Friends often drop in on the off-chance of getting a free beer,’ he replied. ‘If it’s one of those, tell them the cupboard is bare and they’d better scoot.’

  Smiling to herself, Joanne crossed the small lounge just as the doorbell chimed impatiently a second time. Whoever it was, they did not like the idea of being kept waiting, she thought, her fingers fumbling with the unfamiliar lock before the door swung open.

  The faint smile froze on her lips as she stared up at the man standing on the doorstep.

  ‘You!’ she gasped incredulously, her wild glance taking in Daniel’s dark evening suit, tailored impeccably to fit that lean, muscular body, and the almost startling contrast of his white shirt front, accentuating the hard arrogance of the tanned face above the black bow-tie. When she managed to still the clamouring of her heart, she demanded hoarsely, ‘What are you doing here?’

  His eyebrows rose mockingly. ‘Ungracious as always.’

  ‘I didn’t know you intended coming to Cape Town as well,’ she remarked carelessly, standing aside for him to enter and experiencing an unwanted quiver of pleasure as he brushed past her in the confined space.

  ‘It slipped my mind,’ he said abruptly, his glance going beyond her. ‘Oh, hello, Bruce. Did you get those tickets for me?’

  ‘Yes,’ Bruce nodded, darting a glance at Joanne as he handed two tickets to Daniel. ‘It was the best I could do at such short notice.’

  ‘I’m very much obliged to you,’ Daniel smiled, pocketing the tickets and turning to Joanne who had stood by silently, and curiously. ‘Are you ready?’

  ‘Ready?’ she asked, a little bewildered.

  ‘They’re doing Swan Lake at the Nico Malan Theatre,’ Daniel informed her with a hint of impatience.

  ‘What has that to do with me?’ she demanded haughtily, her body inexplicably tense.

  ‘I’m taking you,’ he replied with arrogant confidence, tapping his fingers against his jacket pocket. ‘Hence the tickets. ’

  ‘Just a minute,’ Joanne snapped, suspicion flaring like a raw flame within her. ‘Was this little escapade planned between the two of you? Is that why I received this unusual invitation to spend the week-end at your flat, Bruce?’

  A dull red colour stained Bruce’s che
eks. ‘Well, I—’

  ‘It was my idea entirely,’ Daniel cut in.

  ‘It may have been your idea, but Bruce didn’t have to go along with it,’ she stated coldly, keeping a tight rein on her anger and disappointment.

  Daniel gestured impatiently. ‘We’re wasting time, Joanne. ’

  ‘I don’t care how much time we’re wasting. I’m not going with you,’ she almost shouted.

  ‘Oh, yes, you are. ’ Hard fingers latched on to her arm, biting cruelly into soft flesh. ‘Bruce, get her wrap and her bag, or whatever it is women take with them on an evening out.’

  ‘You can’t bully me into going with you, Daniel,’ she said through her teeth, struggling to free her arm but only punishing herself in the process.

  ‘I would carry you kicking and screaming down to the car if the need arose,’ he threatened harshly, and the gleam in his eyes was a warning to her that he would not hesitate to carry out his threat. Bruce returned with her things and, to her annoyance, Daniel placed her wrap about her shoulders as if she were a child before pressing her bag into her hands. ‘Are you ready to come quietly, or do I carry you down?’

  The atmosphere seemed to be crackling with electricity as she glanced from Daniel to Bruce, and back. ‘I think you’re both despicable!’

  Bruce coloured with discomfort. ‘You’re just being difficult, Jo.’

  ‘Difficult!’ she almost screamed at him, her eyes dark green pools of anger in her white face. ‘The trouble is that neither of you consider that I have any feelings at all. You shove me about as if I were a lifeless sack of potatoes, uncaring whether I’m bruised or hurt in the process. ’

  ‘We’re sufficiently impressed by your little speech, now come on,’ Daniel instructed impatiently. ‘I dislike intensely walking into the theatre when the curtain has already risen.’

  Choking down her bitterness, she stood by helplessly as Bruce gave Daniel the spare key to the flat before she found herself ushered unceremoniously into the lift which swept them down to the ground floor.

  ‘This way,’ said Daniel, guiding her to where his dark green Citroen was parked. ‘I’m glad you’re being sensible at last. ’

  Joanne did not reply, choking back the angry words that hovered on her lips and fighting for the control she had lost so completely shortly after his arrival at Bruce’s flat.

  It did not take them long to arrive at the foreshore where the Nico Malan Theatre was ablaze with lights. It was considered the most modern in the world, and the largest in the southern hemisphere, but Joanne was strangely unimpressed by its splendour as she was whisked through the magnificent foyer and into the opera house where they were promptly shown to their seats.

  ‘Relax, Joanne,’ Daniel whispered once they were seated. ‘I can feel you vibrating with tension and anger, and I don’t find that very complimentary. ’

  ‘I feel like clawing your eyes out!’ she hissed back at him.

  ‘Here?’ he demanded softly, his glance mocking. ‘In this lovely theatre?’

  Her eyes flashed green sparks of anger. ‘I don’t very much care where I do it.’

  ‘I suggest you wait until we’re alone, then you can claw all you like,’ he replied, an undertone of sensuality in his lowered voice. ‘I think I might even enjoy being clawed by you.’

  ‘I hate you! ’ she whispered fiercely, wishing there were not so many people seated about them sending curious glances in their direction.

  ‘You’re repeating yourself, and it can become so tiresome. ’

  ‘Good!’ she replied coldly. ‘When I’ve become too tiresome to bear you may leave me in peace.’

  ‘My darling,’ he murmured, his voice a velvet warmth that washed over her and set her disobedient pulses beating rapidly. ‘You’re so very beautiful when you’re angry that I’m finding it extremely difficult not to take you in my arms and kiss you, regardless of all the prying eyes.’ His glance lingered on her lips and it was like a physical contact; a suggestive intimacy. It sent the blood pounding through her veins and surging into her cheeks as she wrenched her glance away from his just as the lights were dimmed and the first haunting strains of Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake filled the opera house.

  It was not the first time she had seen this particular ballet being performed, but nonetheless she sat spellbound, forgetting almost Daniel’s presence beside her as she became entwined in the poignant theme, and sighing almost regretfully when the curtain came down on the final scene.

  ‘I’m glad you enjoyed it,’ Daniel remarked, giving her a sidelong glance, and before she could prevent herself, she smiled up at him.

  Her nerves were too deliciously untangled to continue doing battle with him, and she offered no resistance when his hand lay warm against her waist as he guided her into the foyer.

  ‘Daniel, darling,’ a musical, faintly husky female voice made Daniel tense beside her, his arm almost painfully tight about her waist as they turned to face the woman approaching them from across the crowded foyer. She was a blonde, striking-looking woman in her early thirties, Joanne judged swiftly, and her diamonds glittered almost harshly beneath the expensive lighting. ‘I knew I couldn’t be mistaken,’ she smiled charmingly as she reached their side.

  ‘Greta,’ Daniel said in surprise. ‘What on earth are you doing in Cape Town? Is Manfred with you?’

  ‘Didn’t you know?’ she asked dramatically, her cool grey eyes as hard as the diamonds about her slender throat. ‘Manfred died about two months ago and, as you know, I was never happy in South West Africa. ’

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know,’ Daniel remarked regretfully before pushing Joanne forward a little. ‘Greta, I would like you to meet my ...’ Joanne’s sharp glance made him pause moments before he uttered the word ‘wife’. ‘I would like you to meet Joanne Webster. Joanne, this is Greta Neal. Greta and I have known each other since our pre-school days. ’

  ‘How do you do, Mrs. Neal,’ Joanne murmured politely. The curvaceous body in the black dress and expensive furs seemed to stiffen, the hard eyes speculative as Greta Neal nodded coolly in Joanne’s direction before returning her attention to Daniel, switching on her radiance as one would switch on a light.

  ‘Tell me, darling, are you still living here in the Mother City?’ she wanted to know, her slender, bejewelled fingers resting possessively on Daniel’s arm.

  ‘No,’ Daniel replied, a smile curving his lips. ‘As a matter of fact, Joanne and I are both working at a clinic in Willowmead.’

  ‘Are you a doctor too?’

  Those cold eyes seemed to dissect Joanne quite thoroughly. ‘No, Mrs. Neal. I’m a nurse.’

  ‘Oh ...’ the scarlet lips curled insultingly.

  ‘Greta, you must excuse us,’ Daniel said abruptly, and Joanne could almost feel the impatience ripple through him.

  ‘I hope I shall see you again, darling,’ that musical voice almost purred. ‘We must talk about the old times, mustn’t

  we?’

  ‘It was nice seeing you again, Greta,’ Daniel replied, ignoring the suggestiveness in her remark. Then, nodding coolly, he said ‘goodnight’ and almost rushed Joanne off her feet in his hurry to reach his car.

  ‘Now don’t start panicking,’ he said eventually when they passed the turn-off to Bruce’s flat. ‘I’m taking you somewhere where we can have a quiet drink to round off the evening with.’

  It had not occurred to her to offer any protestations, she was far too busy trying to find the appropriate place in Daniel’s past for that sparkling blonde who no doubt possessed a heart as hard as her cold grey eyes. Trying to imagine her as a little girl was quite impossible, and trying to picture Daniel as a small boy was equally difficult. Did he ever climb trees? she wondered bemusedly, thinking of those carefree days when her parents had still been alive, and she and Bruce had spent hours climbing the trees in the back garden, pretending to be Tarzan and Jane with some frightful mission to accomplish before the sun set behind the Hottentot’s Holland mountains.


  Joanne sighed inwardly. Daniel had most probably been a very correct little boy; never too boisterous, and never dirty. Greta Neal could not have been anything other than a prim little doll, she decided, her thoughts jumping back to the woman they had met so unexpectedly that evening. Frills and lace, and fancy ribbons—that was how Joanne saw Greta Neal as a child.

  The car turned off the freeway, the lights sweeping the street ahead, and a certain warmth stole through her, relaxing her completely in Daniel’s company as she recalled his behaviour in the foyer of the Nico Malan Theatre. He had not been very pleased to see this woman who had swept down upon them like some bird selecting its prey and coming in for the kill. He had been friendly, but cool and aloof, and had so very nearly made it quite plain that she, Joanne, was his wife. If she had not stopped him, Greta Neal would most probably have faded back into the past, but Joanne had a strange feeling that, despite Daniel’s reluctance to become involved, they had not seen the last of that woman.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ‘Tell me about Greta Neal,’ said Joanne after they had been shown to a secluded table at a small but respectable night club just outside the city.

  Daniel’s lips twisted into a smile as he stared down into the amber-coloured liquid in his glass. ‘What would you like to know?’

  ‘Was her husband a farmer in South West?’

  ‘He was in the diamond industry. ’

  ‘That figures,’ she laughed softly. ‘She certainly has more nerve than I would have to wear all that expensive stuff in public. It’s like displaying your bank statement to whoever cared to notice.’

  ‘Greta was always one for glittering trinkets, and Manfred pampered her expensive tastes like the fool he was,’ Daniel remarked soberly, his strong, clever fingers twirling the glass on the table.

  ‘Were you ever in love with her?’

  ‘Certainly not!’ he exploded. ‘I did at one stage think she married Manfred in a fit of pique because I made it so obvious that I didn’t want her hanging around me, but I was very much a self-opinionated student at the time. Now, of course, I’m sure she married him for all the usual reasons. ’