He was an expert, a craftsman. He delved and carved and sculpted. He used her mercilessly. He roamed over her flesh as though he would leave none of it intact, hewing ecstasy out of every hollow and curve. She pulled him fiercely against her, wanting to melt into him, wanting more. Harder, deeper. He didn’t disappoint.
At last he gave a low groan and she let herself relax, sore and aching with pleasure.
‘Well?’ he said softly. ‘Well?’
‘Oh, very well,’ she replied.
When at last she slid out from under him and swung her legs over the side of the bed her body was so stiff and bruised it was painful to walk. ‘God!’ she exclaimed.
He moved to stand beside her, placing his arms gently around her. ‘My sweet little sprite, what have I done to you?’ he asked.
She twisted herself to and fro in front of the mirror, looking at the livid marks of passion. Inside her flesh seethed with heat. She laughed and punched his chest lightly. ‘Don’t worry, I’m a toughie.’
He rubbed gentle soothing hands all over her. ‘What time does your mother get back?’
‘Not for ages. It’s her late night working. And then Donald usually wines and dines her. In ever more lavish style from what I can gather.’
His grip tightened on her. She gave a little yelp as his fingers brushed tender flesh. He released her instantly. ‘My poor darling!’
‘You are a malevolent bastard after all,’ she laughed. ‘Oh, come on - I’m not an innocent virgin.’
‘Don’t talk about other men,’ he growled.
‘Just one other. I’m not a tart!’ she flashed back. ‘Don’t you dare start on any of that hypocritical male bullshit!’
He recoiled, momentarily stunned that she should turn on him so aggressively. ‘Explain what you mean,’ he demanded his eyes blazing down at her.
‘You know the sort of thing. Accusing the woman you’ve just shagged as being the kind who sleeps around. Making a woman feel like a slag if she’s eager and willing. Branding her as frigid if she’s virtuous.’
Tara had read the challenging, questioning feminist literature that every female student was morally obliged to assimilate. Its message had made her burn with rage at the no-win situation most women found themselves in the sexual arena, even now in the last decade of the so-called enlightened twentieth century. She was also alarmed to find herself still a victim of exactly those prejudices she despised; terrified that Saul Xavier would brand her a trollop because she had fallen so easily into bed with him and enjoyed herself with such transparent abandon.
Even now she could not believe it had happened, could not understand how it had happened. And at the same time, deep within her there were no regrets. She would like to make love with him for an eternity.
Oh hell!
‘Tara!’ He grasped her tightly. ‘I don’t want to make war with you. Just love. And we have all evening…’
‘No,’ Tara said. ‘I have my job to go to.’
‘You’ve no need to do that any more. That’s over.’
‘It’s my job. It’s my only source of income at the moment. I need it.’
‘You are a fool to do it. Wasting your talent. Demeaning yourself.’
Still naked, they confronted each other fiercely. She snorted like a cross pony and turned her back on him. He came to stand close to her and wrapped his arms around her firm, fleshy body. Tara felt the hardness of his stomach and thighs against her back and buttocks. Her innards turned to liquid with fresh desire. With a superhuman effort of will she wrenched herself free.
‘It’s honest work. It gives me a tiny shred of independence.’
He made a contemptuously dismissive gesture.
‘At least I don’t have to be anybody’s kept woman,’ she continued angrily. ‘No man’s pampered performing monkey – or mistress or wife for that matter.’
A terrible silence filled the room.
Wife. Saul’s wife. Tara felt a physical breath-crushing shock. Her brain began to race like a fleeing panic-stricken animal which senses danger on all sides. She stared up at him. ‘You’ve just committed adultery. And so have I!’
Her body became chilled and icy. She began feverishly burrowing amongst the heap of clothes beside the bed, tugging out what was hers and pulling them on with trembling fingers.
Making love with another woman’s husband. How tawdry. How cheap. How despicable. Oh God!
Unable to bear being in the same room with him for another instant, she flew across the hall and into the bathroom, trying to blot out the terrible reality of what had happened. The room dipped and swam before her eyes and her stomach lurched. She ran to the sink and vomited violently into the basin, her whole body shaking.
As she hung over the bowl she heard him come up behind her, saw his hand reaching in front of her to turn on the tap and swirl the nastiness away. His firm strong arms brushed hers and against the depth of her will Tara felt a fresh shaft of desire darting through her with white heat.
She heard his voice. ‘Tara—‘
‘Don’t!’ she moaned. ‘Don’t say anything. Don’t do anything.’ She wanted him to cease to be a presence in her house. She wanted him to cease existing in her brain, for the memory of him to be erased and expunged forever.
He grasped her, his fingers digging deep into the soft flesh of her upper arms. ‘Listen to me – I am no womanizer. No adulterer either. If only you knew the truth of it, Tara,’ he said bitterly.
She stayed silent, her whole body stiff and unyielding.
‘My marriage is dead,’ he told her. ‘I shall deal with whatever needs to be done and then we can be together.’
His cold and ruthless decisiveness appalled her. ‘Get rid of your wife you mean?’ she said with icy derision. ‘You must have a heart of granite and an ego the size of the Albert Hall. What makes you think I would even give a second’s thought to being a party to all that?’
‘Because now that I’ve tasted the first delights of making love to you, I shall make sure that you do. And I’ve no intention of letting you slip through my fingers.’ Those fingers now tightened on her, the pressure remorseless. ‘And you won’t be able to help yourself.’
She looked up and saw his face reflected in the mirror above the basin. She shivered, seeing the hard relentless purpose in his eyes. She knew that he meant what he said. And that he was used to getting his way in all things. She would need the strength of Hercules to resist, on that score alone.
His eyes held hers in the glass and she winced as the pressure of his fingers slowly increased, digging deep. She bit her lip and tasted blood. ‘Get out!’ she said slowly and deliberately. ‘Get out now!’
He released her.
She tensed, wondering if he would sweep aside her resistance and take her by force. A part of her urgently wanted that and she felt a wave of sickening disgust. There was a breathless moment of stillness and then he stepped back from her. She heard his footsteps on the stairs, heard the front door open and then close firmly.
Flying back into the bedroom she watched the tall figure walk down the road to the low sleek car.
He did not turn to look back.
CHAPTER 10
Georgiana paced up and down her bedroom like a caged tiger. On the floor were several items of designer luggage, partly packed.
Alicia, armed with a large gin and tonic and a long slender cigar, rifled through the contents of Georgiana’s wardrobe, eyeing them speculatively whilst at the same time keeping watch on her friend about whom she was more than a little concerned.
Georgiana kept insisting that nothing was wrong, that she was merely restless and excited at the prospect of flying off for a marvellous holiday on the Caribbean island of St Lucia. Lithe and elegant in a turquoise silk shirt and white designer jeans, she paused by her dressing table and fingered a long rope of pearls whilst exclaiming that it would so gorgeously warm and sunny at this time of year. She would get a fabulous pale golden tan. Xavier always said she was at her m
ost beautiful with just a touch of extra gold about her.
The more she protested the more certain Alicia was that something extremely serious was wrong.
‘What about your therapy sessions?’ she asked Georgiana. ‘Won’t you miss them – and that sexy doctor?’ Alicia sometimes picked Georgiana up in her car at the close of her sessions with Dr Denton. She had spotted the doctor briefly on one or two occasions, noting his clean cut good looks and his knowing eyes, and had wondered how long a female patient would be able to resist him. Although thinking it over she had then wondered about her friend’s capacity for falling in love.
‘Yes, I shall miss the sessions,’ Georgiana admitted. ‘I’ve got used to them.’
‘Well, a break might be no bad thing,’ Alicia remarked. ‘In fact I’m surprised you’ve stuck to it so long.’
‘Xavier wanted me to,’ Georgiana said simply.
Alicia laughed. ‘Since when did you do things because Xavier decreed it?’
‘I take notice of what he says. I’ve always valued his advice. You know that.’
‘Has it really made things any better? All that stream of consciousness stuff?’ Alicia screwed her eyes up against the smoke from her cigar as she watched Georgiana’s reaction carefully.
She shrugged. ‘On balance – I think so.’
Alicia was pretty sure that whatever else the therapy had done it hadn’t got Georgiana back in the sack with Xavier. She was frequently dying to ask directly but something in Georgiana’s manner when the subject was touched on always restrained her.
‘So you’ll go back for more when you’re in London again?’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘Shall I keep an eye on Xavier whilst you’re away?’ Alicia enquired. ‘I’ve got one or two little dinners coming up.’
‘You can invite him by all means. But he’s frightfully busy. Since he took over at the Tudor Phil he’s hardly a spare minute.’ Georgiana’s lovely features were temporarily distorted with a touch of peevishness.
The phone pealed out. Georgiana gave a little start. It rang twice and then stopped. A few moments later it rang again. Georgiana stared at the instrument, making no move to pick it up.
Alicia watched her with curiosity. She looked at the phone. She looked back at Georgiana. She was intrigued.
‘You answer it,’ Georgiana said. ‘I’m in no mood for chatting.’
Alicia picked up the phone. ‘Hello,’ she said in her lazy ripe voice.
‘Could I have Mr Saul Xavier please?’ It was a woman’s voice. A young woman – assertive but unmistakably anxious. Alicia glanced towards Georgiana who had turned away and was now fiddling about with the bottles on her dressing table.
‘Could you have Mr Xavier? I shall have to ask his wife. I rather think he belongs to her,’ Alicia drawled tantalizingly, enjoying herself. ‘Shall I ask her now - she’s right here?’
‘No! Could you tell me where I can reach him, please – give me a number to contact him?’
Alicia was impressed. Such persistence. She looked at Georgiana making an appeal with her eyes to indicate Georgiana should take the call. Georgiana shook her head impatiently, turning away.
‘I’m sure you’ll appreciate I can’t give out his private number to all and sundry,’ Alicia said sweetly. ‘If this is a business matter you could contact his agent.’
A pause. ‘Yes. Yes, I’ll do that.’
‘I presume you have the number?’
‘No – I haven’t.’
Of course not, Alicia thought. Business matter my foot! ‘Maestro Xavier’s agent is Roland Grant. You’ll find his details in the phone directory.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You’re very welcome!’ Alicia replaced the receiver and drew deeply on the remains of her cigar.
‘Well?’ Georgiana asked.
‘I suspect that was one of the delightful escorts you hired for Xavier. Obviously wanting more of the same – of whatever he did to her,’ she added wickedly.
Georgian sank down on the bed, her face chalky white.
‘Darling, I warned it was dangerous,’ Alicia said gently. ‘It’s got to stop. You could lose him.’
‘No. NO! That will never happen.’ The agitation in Georgiana’s face was in direct opposition to the confidence suggested in her words.
‘She’s phoned before, hasn’t she, that young woman? You were expecting her?’
Georgiana flinched.
‘Come on sweetheart. Confide in me. Use me. I’m your friend.’
‘No one has phoned. I just have this feeling.’
‘About Xavier?’ Alicia demanded.
‘He’s never at home, always working.’
‘Sounds like he’s behaving normally.’
Georgiana’s wary blue eyes sharpened with a curious mixture of bewilderment and calculation. ‘He’s abstracted. He forgets things when you talk to him.’
Alicia took a sip of her drink. That was definitely not like Xavier. He was always in total command. ‘You think he’s fallen for one of these women? It’s hardly surprising. But don’t worry he’ll soon come through it. After all they’re no more than high-class call girls. Hardly Xavier’s style.’
Georgiana couldn’t help but agree. But then Alicia did not know of Xavier’s cool cancelling of Georgiana’s “gifts”. Alicia did not know that Xavier wanted nothing more to do with those delightful girls she had hired for him. Only Dr Denton knew about that.
But not even Dr Denton knew that Xavier had suggested to Georgiana that they had a trial separation, that maybe in the circumstances it would be better to review their marriage from a position of distance. In the circumstances he had said. She knew exactly what he meant. His voice had been laced with deeply sexual meaning when he said it. But he had made no move to take her in his arms this time.
A sudden terrible panic seized her. Could he really just toss her aside? Surely not. No, she would never let it happen. Never. She was only thirty-six and more beautiful than she had ever been. He would never be able to let her go. It simply would not happen.
‘Have you any evidence that he’s got another woman?’ Alicia enquired.
‘No,’ Georgiana replied truthfully. But he must have, mustn’t he? There would be no other possible reason for his wanting to change things between them. One of those girls must have got her hooks into him. That must be why he wanted no further new gifts.
‘Look darling – it’s more than likely that he hasn’t,’ Alicia reassured her. ‘He’s a workaholic and he’s choosy, which narrows down both the opportunities and the field. Neither is he a fool. This girl on the phone is almost certainly a one-night stand from the agency, and she simply won’t be an issue as long as you play your cards right.’
Georgiana pressed her lips together.
‘Things have to change,’ Alicia told her. ‘Before it’s too late. And you can make them change sweetheart, you really can.’
Georgiana stopped pacing. She looked steadily at her friend, her eyes wide with a sense of foreboding.
‘You’ve got to start sleeping with him again,’ Alicia said bluntly. ‘And if the idea still makes you wince, knock back a few vodkas before he comes home.’
‘He doesn’t look at me any more,’ Georgiana complained. ‘Not…properly.’
‘He will, darling, if you’re on that bed with your knickers off and your legs spread,’ Alicia said brutally. ‘There are very few men who wouldn’t.’
Alicia’s comment on male desire was generalized to all available females but Georgiana interpreted it very personally, knowing that no man would be able to resist her.
Revulsion passed over her perfect features as she thought through the possible scenario with Xavier. She would need more than a few vodkas. She would need to be anaesthetized.
She could not bear to lose him. But could she bear to do that again, even to keep him?
CHAPTER 11
Tara felt like a new woman: scarred, tainted and shabby.
Also be
reft. The image of Saul Xavier’s face was still lodged in her head for almost every waking minute. Constantly she heard his voice and relived the sensation of his touch.
Listening to and playing music – always a refuge before – now seemed like torture. She was always wondering how he would have reacted to a certain piece, how they might have shared it together.
Her appetite deserted her and her firm ample flesh began to melt away. Bones appeared which she had never seen before, little spikes at her hips and ribs like plate racks. But her breasts, which she had always considered rather absurd and clearly designed for a bigger girl altogether, stubbornly refused to change. If anything Tara thought they were fuller than before, tender and slightly swollen, the nipples enlarged and deep rosy pink.
She was astonished at the way emotional stress could translate itself into such obvious physical changes. She raged at herself for being such a fool as to have fallen into Xavier’s arms so easily. It was not as if she had even been hankering after him in that way. Well, not consciously at least. And now all she could do was moon about longing for him like some lovesick teenager whose brains were lodged somewhere between her knees and her navel.
She hated herself. She hated him. She took his letters to the bottom of the garden and set fire to them. The daily barrage of flowers he sent her she took to adorn deserted graves in the churchyard nearby. She stopped answering the phone. She made an arrangement to use the practice rooms of her former school when she wanted to play so that she was never alone in the house. She carried on with her job. She was always cheery and hard working. She got more tips than the rest of the staff put together.
And she never let her mother suspect for a minute what had happened. This went on for some weeks after which she felt completely exhausted.
‘Tara, you’re eating like a sparrow,’ her mother commented one evening, as they ate supper together. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I just don’t feel very hungry. It’s working at the restaurant that does it. Seeing all that food – and then the smell of it. Ugh! It churns me up.’
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