She followed him into a long, well-proportioned hallway with a polished parquet floor. It was lined with pictures that were lit by bright, modern lighting, and several doors opened out of it.
‘This way.’ He ushered her to an open door to her right.
She stopped on the threshold, eyes wide. ‘Richard! What a delightful room!’ The drawing room was very large, very light and positively exuded comfort and simple good taste. At one end was a large open fireplace, its currently empty fire basket hidden by a large screen exquisitely embroidered in modern style. The rugs on the wooden floor and the heavy curtains at the window were also of modern design, as was the furniture. The walls were hung with perhaps a dozen paintings, most of them in Impressionist style. A bowl of roses on a low table in the centre of the room scented the air. ‘You like it?’ Richard asked.
‘I love it.’ She went to the window, which looked out over what appeared to be a tiny park, though closer examination revealed that it was actually a large communal garden with lawns and benches, a pond and several huge and ancient trees. She turned back to survey the room. Richard had moved to a cabinet and was standing with a record in his hand. She watched as he slipped it from its cover and put it on. Ragtime filled the air; Richard turned down the volume and lifted his head, smiling.
‘I’m glad. I was afraid you might not like the style.’
‘I love it,’ she repeated. ‘It does seem strange, doesn’t it? That I haven’t been here before?’
‘There hasn’t been time, that’s all. Come.’ He took her hand, drew her to him and kissed her lightly. ‘I’ll show you the rest of the place.’
Every room in the apartment was to scale with the drawing room. The kitchen was vast – rather intimidatingly so, Annie found, though she did not say so – the bathroom luxurious. The main bedroom was panelled in light, beautifully grained maple, and the – again modern and beautifully designed – furniture was fashioned in the same wood: a large wardrobe, a chest of drawers, a tallboy and the biggest bed Annie had ever seen. It was the most masculine of rooms; a fact that she somehow found unexpectedly comforting. No woman had had a hand in this.
As so often happened, Richard seemed to sense her thoughts. ‘We can change it,’ he said quietly. ‘You’ll need a dressing table, a wardrobe of course—’
‘There’s room,’ she said absently. ‘It isn’t important.’ Her eyes on the bed, she was suddenly very aware of his closeness. The window was open. Sultry air drifted in, carrying the scents and sounds of the garden. She turned to him.
He was watching her, smiling. She opened her mouth to speak; said nothing. Their eyes locked. He lifted his hand, brushed the back of it very gently upon her cheek. She turned her head a little, laid her lips upon his knuckles. His skin smelled as it always did, a familiar and to her almost intoxicating mix of sharp citrus soap and nicotine. The moment stretched, seemingly endless. ‘I’ll show you Davie’s room,’ he said at last, and cleared his throat.
She did not move.
The music had stopped. The apartment was very quiet.
His hand dropped to her shoulder, then moved to her breast. She took a small, shuddering breath and closed her eyes. ‘Annie, I didn’t want to do this – I wanted us to wait – that’s why I hadn’t brought you here before—’ His voice was suddenly harsh with strain. She could feel the trembling of his body. She curled her arms about his neck and kissed him.
There was nothing gentle about their lovemaking, nothing of tenderness. It was an alleviation of hunger, an assuaging of thirst – quick, fevered, almost brutal. They lay afterwards for a long time, half-dressed, dishevelled and slick with sweat in the humid air, saying nothing, drained yet oddly unsatisfied. Eventually Richard rolled onto his stomach, burying his face in his arms. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, his voice muffled.
Annie came up on one elbow, looking at him, tracing the curve of his back and shoulder with the light touch of her finger. ‘Don’t be silly. Whatever for?’
‘I told you. I didn’t mean that to happen. And certainly not like that.’
‘I enjoyed it,’ she said, simply and candidly.
He lifted his head, rubbed big hands through his already furiously disordered hair. ‘So did I! Of course I did. It’s just… Annie, I told you – and I mean it – I want us to do things the right way.’ He turned his head to glance up at her, the sudden rueful laughter back. ‘And grabbing you like a demented adolescent a week before I marry you doesn’t really fit that particular bill, now does it?’
She smiled a little, swung her legs to the side of the bed, reached for her clothes. They dressed in silence.
‘Drink?’ he asked, watching her in the wardrobe mirror as she pulled a comb through her tangled hair.
She smiled faintly at his reflection. ‘Yes, please.’
‘Martini?’
‘Would be perfect.’
As he went out she studiously avoided her own eyes in the mirror. A moment later she heard music coming from the drawing room again, a soft, crooning melody of love and moonlit seduction. She cast a quick glance at the messily rumpled bed. Her smile was wry as she left the room.
Richard had the drinks waiting, the cocktail shaker and the stemmed, frosted glasses sitting on an ornamental black lacquer tray. Annie took hers, thanked him with a smile and went to the open window. In the past half-hour the sky had darkened ominously; there was the unmistakeable feeling of a storm in the air. As she watched she caught the faint, distant flicker of lightning. A woman’s voice called sharply; a child’s answered and Annie caught a glimpse of a small boy running from under a tree just as the first huge drops of rain splashed through the leaves. ‘It’s raining,’ she said.
‘It’s been threatening all day.’ She heard the clink of glass behind her.
Thunder rolled.
‘Annie?’ Richard’s voice asked from behind her. ‘What’s really wrong? Why did you really come?’ There was a quiet certainty in his voice that defied her to lie.
She did not turn. ‘To tell you something,’ she heard herself say.
There was a small, wary moment of silence. ‘You – haven’t changed your mind?’ he asked, his voice very even.
‘No. No, of course not. How could you think that after…’ She let the words trail off, bent her head to look at her glass. Her hands were shaking. She tossed back what was left of her drink, the dry bite of it catching in her throat. ‘It was something you said – something you’ve said more than once – about fresh starts, and honesty and not deceiving each other—’
‘Well?’ The word was tense.
The last, plaintive notes of the love song died. She took a breath. ‘What would you say,’ she asked, ‘if I told you that Philippe wasn’t Davie’s father?’
This time the silence was so long, and so fraught, that she turned to face him – and flinched from the expression on his face. He was staring at her; to her astonishment he had actually paled. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked.
‘What I said.’ Suddenly she was desperately composed. ‘I was pregnant when I married Philippe. He didn’t know it; he never found out.’
It was a long, long time before he spoke. She saw the struggle in his eyes, the final understanding. Then, ‘How could you?’ he asked. ‘How could you have married him knowing…?’
She was regretting the impulse already. Too late. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, surely you can see how?’ She shook her head, closing her eyes for a moment. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. Darling – please – try to understand. I was eighteen years old—’
‘You loved him,’ he interrupted her. ‘You told me that you loved him.’ He was watching her intently, his expression suddenly unfathomable.
‘l did. At least, insofar as I knew what love was, yes, I did.’
‘Then, how—’
She turned from him sharply. ‘I can’t tell you that. Please try to understand. I just can’t.’
‘And Davie?’ There was a tight edge of something close to anger in his voi
ce. ‘Does Davie know?’
‘No.’
‘Will you tell him?’
The question that had haunted her for more than ten years. She hung on to her self-control by a thread. ‘One day, I suppose I’ll have to. Richard, please – please! – don’t make me sorry I told you. Don’t let it make any difference to us. I just felt I had to tell you.’
The room had become very dark. Outside the window a sudden intense flash crackled through the clouds and lit the sky. Annie jumped.
Richard reached for the cocktail shaker. ‘Another?’ he asked. His voice was cool. It was, she thought, as if he spoke to a stranger. She hated the sound of it.
‘No. Thank you.’
He poured one for himself. She could not see his face. ‘Richard?’ she ventured. ‘You aren’t… angry with me? It was all so long ago – it feels like a different lifetime—’
For a long moment he did not speak, then he turned, and to her relief the unnervingly chill look had gone from his face. ‘Of course I’m not angry with you. Why should I be? As you say, it was a long time ago. How could I be angry about something that happened long before we met? You were eighteen – and I’m willing to bet a not very experienced eighteen. I remember Paris in those last months before the war. It wasn’t the most calm or chaste of environments, as I recall.’ He put down his glass and came to her, putting his arms about her, drawing her to him. Thunder rolled and crashed. ‘I’m glad you told me,’ he said.
She drew a deep breath. ‘So am I.’
‘Tell me something – does Jane know?’
Annie shook her head against his chest. ‘No. No one does.’ She closed her mind to the thought that this might not be entirely true; she had said enough.
‘You’ll have to tell Davie. One day.’
She bit her lip and said nothing.
‘Annie?’
‘Not now. Not yet,’ she said.
‘Of course not.’
She stepped back, looking up at him. The long dark lashes were wet with unshed tears. ‘You are sure it hasn’t made any difference?’
He had taken a cigarette from his silver case and was tapping it on his thumbnail. ‘I’m sure. It… was a shock, that’s all. As I said, I’m glad you told me. I don’t want us to have secrets. Now – we don’t have to speak of it any more. Thank you for telling me. Thank you for being so brave. It couldn’t have been easy.’
She smiled a little shakily. ‘I think,’ she said, ‘if you don’t mind – I’ll have that drink now.’
Outside the heavens had opened; the sound of the rain all but drowned her words. They stood at the window watching the storm. Lightning split the sky, gusts of wind tossed in the treetops, the world was drenched in the ferocious downpour. Darkness shadowed the room around them.
The telephone rang.
Richard cursed mildly, picked it up. ‘Hello?’
Annie, sipping her martini and watching the streaming rain, did not see the sudden sharp glance he threw her when he heard the answering voice. He turned his back, spoke quietly. ‘It’s a bit difficult at the moment’ – another bellow of thunder – ‘plans have changed… Yes… Look, old man, I’ll ring you tomorrow – fill you in. Sure. Talk to you then. Thanks. And you. Bye.’
He hung the receiver back on its hook and rejoined her. ‘If there’s one problem with the telephone, that’s it,’ he said easily. ‘Some people just never stop working. Now – another small one while we wait for this to clear, then I’ll call a taxi for you. Jane will be thinking you’ve been kidnapped.’ He nodded ruefully at the sheets of rain that were blowing against the window. ‘Or drowned.’ He saw the flicker in her eyes at that and shook his head gently. ‘Don’t be silly,’ he said, ‘I’m joking. That’s all. We’re going to get you over that, aren’t we?’ He bent to kiss her lightly.
‘If you want, I’ll try,’ she said. And meant it. At that moment she would have done anything in the world he asked.
‘Good.’ Richard went to the gramophone, picked up a record. ‘Ambrose and the Embassy Club.’ He smiled across the room at her. ‘Fancy a dance?’
An hour later the storm had died, and a taxi had pulled up outside the house. Richard escorted her downstairs and out onto the wet pavement. The storm had cleared the air and the birds were singing. ‘We’ll need to get together one day this week to make the final arrangements,’ he said. ‘How about Wednesday?’
‘That suits me.’
Richard opened the taxi door for her but, before she could get in, clicked his fingers and turned her to face him. ‘I’ve had an idea.’
She looked at him enquiringly.
‘Davie. Do you think he’d like to come and stay with me on Friday night? Some friends are taking me out on Thursday, but I’ve kept Friday free. I never could see the point of turning up hungover at your own wedding. I’d love to have Davie’s company. He could see the apartment, it would get him out of your way, and he could really do his best-man bit – get me to the church on time! What do you think?’
‘He’d love it,’ Annie said. ‘I think, much as he loves us, his women are rather getting on his nerves.’ She laughed. ‘He can bring that wretched book with him and you can read it together to your hearts’ content. What a splendid idea!’
‘Good! Tell him I’ll pick him up after school. He can bring his glad rags and we’ll get ready together.’
‘I’ll tell him.’ She kissed him, got in the cab, waved through the window as it pulled away.
Richard lifted a hand, stood watching as the taxi drove off.
Then, as it turned the corner he reached into his pocket for his cigarette case, and the smile faded from his face to leave it totally expressionless, the eyes cool and very, very thoughtful.
Chapter Thirteen
‘I wish we could go on an adventure like that, don’t you?’ Davie closed the book he had been reading and ran a finger over the cover. He was lying on the floor on his stomach, knees bent, sandalled feet waving in the air. He put his chin on his cupped hands and looked up at Richard, who was sitting in an armchair reading The Times. Richard folded the newspaper and dropped it to the floor, smiling. ‘D’you think we could one day?’ the boy persisted. ‘When I’m grown-up, perhaps?’ He paused, frowning slightly. ‘You wouldn’t be too old then, would you?’ he added, a little doubtfully.
Richard threw back his head and laughed. ‘I don’t suppose you’re ever too old for that kind of adventure.’
‘It would be smashing, wouldn’t it?’ Davie’s dark eyes were shining. He squirmed round and sat up, holding an imaginary steering wheel and making engine noises. ‘Brrm, brrm – we’re in Persia. Look at the desert! Brrm, brrm – we’re crossing the Alps – look at the mountains! Brrrm! – now it’s Turkey – look at the turkeys!’ He curled up with laughter at his own witticism.
‘I’ve got a strong feeling you’re going backwards,’ Richard observed dryly. ‘Best you take a course on map-reading before we leave, I think.’
Davie scrambled to his feet, still gurgling with laughter. ‘Oh, we’d be all right. We could just lean out of the window and ask “Which way to India?”’ he said breezily.
Richard laughed again. ‘I must say I think that might be just a little haphazard,’ he said. ‘And besides… in my dotage, as I obviously will be, I’m not sure I’d be able to go all the way to India. Eight and a half thousand miles might be a bit much for an old codger. No, I really think that the trip I did last year was exciting enough for me.’
Davie draped himself leggily over the arm of the chair. ‘Last year? What did you do last year?’
Richard smiled into the eager face. ‘I drove to Paris,’ he said.
Davie stared. ‘Paris? You drove to Paris?’
‘Indeed I did. Not in the Wolseley, of course – I didn’t have it then. I reckon it would be even more fun in that, don’t you?’
‘But – how did you get the car across the Channel?’
‘They crate it up and put it in the ship’s hold.’
‘And then they unload it the other side – and Bob’s your uncle, off you go.’
‘Just like that?’
‘Just like that.’
The boy looked at him, dawning delight in his face. ‘Could we do that?’ he asked slowly, his huge eyes entranced upon Richard’s. ‘Could we?’ There was an almost breathless pleading in the words.
Richard shrugged. ‘One of these days, I expect.’
‘When? When could we?’
Richard cocked his head, his face thoughtful. For a moment he did not reply.
‘Soon?’ the boy prompted excitedly.
‘Your mother said that you wanted to go to Scotland – I’d been half planning—’ He stopped.
‘But Paris would be much more exciting!’ The meaning of the words suddenly registered and Davie jumped to his feet. ‘What had you been planning?’
Richard hesitated. ‘Your special treat, remember?’ he said. ‘I promised you a special treat – to make up for missing your birthday, and as a man-to-man thank you for letting me marry your mother. I was going to suggest that – after the honeymoon, of course – we could take you on a trip. Anywhere you wanted.’
‘I want to go to Paris,’ the boy said with neither hesitation nor a moment of thought. ‘I want to see them put the car on the boat and take it off again—’ He stopped abruptly.
Richard eyed his suddenly stricken face sympathetically. ‘Exactly,’ he said.
‘Mother wouldn’t come, would she?’ Davie ambled over to a chair and threw himself into it. ‘And – even if she agreed to let me go with you on my own, she’d worry so… Oh, blast it!’ He eyed Richard a little warily.
Richard let the forbidden expletive pass without comment. He was tapping a finger pensively on the arm of the chair. ‘There is one possibility,’ he began at last, slowly.
Davie cocked his head to look at him.
‘Your mother has agreed to talk to a friend of mine about this phobia of hers. He’s a doctor – a psychiatrist, actually – and a good one. I’ve spoken to him about it. He thinks he can do something for her. If he did…’
Treacherous Waters Page 16