"Is it often like that in England?"
"It's like that all over the world. Even husbands and wives can grow apart, so why shouldn't friends?"
Even husbands and wives… Tanya was glad Mrs. Poulton didn't know the significance of her casually spoken words. One day she would tell the woman about Adrian, but for the moment she dare not do so.
"Do you see much of Diana?" Mrs. Poulton asked.
"No. Mr. Chesterton is out a great deal and—and Diana goes with him."
"I suppose they're a devoted couple?"
"Not by Rovnian standards," Tanya said with a faint smile. "English people are not demonstrative."
"I wouldn't say that," Mrs. Poulton replied, though what else she would have said was never uttered for at that moment Brian rushed in demanding his tea.
Soon the family arrived and they sat around a table laden with ham, salad, a huge bowl of freshly picked tomatoes and several pots of the jam they had just made.
Roger was the last to arrive and he settled himself next to Tanya. "How do you think our plebeian high tea compares with the Chesterton dinner?"
"I do not think they can be compared," she replied slowly. "One likes what one is accustomed to. In my country we do not have either. We have a big lunch with many courses and we take much longer to eat it—two hours at least. Then in the evening we have cold meat a:nd salad or a cheese dish with wine and coffee. But now I am accustomed to your way of eating and I think the high tea and the dinner are agreeable—both."
Everyone laughed and Mrs. Poulton gave Roger an old-fashioned look. "There you are, son. In her own way, Tanya is saying exactly what I did the other day when
Diana was here. You can't put people into little boxes these days. Traditions and customs—whether they're of class or country—have been broken down far more quickly than you're willing to admit."
"And a good thing too," said Louise, Roger's youngest sister.
Hut Tanya was only half listening, her mind preoccupied with the knowledge that Diana had been here only a few days ago. It was strange Roger had not mentioned it. Unless Diana had come here for personal reasons. She glanced at Roger and saw him watching her, almost as if he guessed what she was thinking.
Before either of them could speak, the telephone rang, bringing with it news that put every other thought out of their heads. Marjorie, Mrs. Poulton's eldest daughter, had been rushed to hospital where her baby, not due for another month, was obviously intending to put in an appearance.
"I must go to her at once," Mrs. Poulton said, one hand clutched against her throat.
"There's no need to worry," Roger put in. "Peter said she's perfectly all right."
"I still want to go to her."
" Would you like me to come with you?" Tanya asked.
" I'll come as well," said Louise.
"No you won't. You've got evening classes," her mother said firmly, "and Beth's got to stay with Brian. I don't like leaving him in the house alone at night."'
Still talking, Mrs. Poulton hurried down the narrow garden path to Roger's car and the three of them set off for the market town of Little Compton, and the hospital.
"I'm sure Marjorie will be fine," Tanya said. "I expect she just has a very impatient little boy!"
Mrs. Poulton did not look reassured and her anxiety only lessened when, at eleven-thirty that night, Peter junior put in an appearance.
Looking through the glass wall into the room where all the newborn infants were housed, Tanya was hard pressed not to cry. It was at times like these that she felt the loneliness of the alien.
"Home and bed for you," Roger murmured, tucking his arm through hers. "Why does the arrival of a baby make all women weepy?"
She laughed and her moment of sadness evaporated. Roger kept up a fund of small talk until he had deposited his mother outside her front door, but as soon as he was alone in the car with Tanya, he referred to Diana.
"I suppose you're wondering why she came to see me?"
"I'd forgotten ail about it," she replied truthfully. "Was it because of us?"
"Yes."
"Adrian was disturbed too. He was angry with me."
"Do you want us to say goodbye till after the election?"
"No."
"Good." Roger drew the car to a stop outside Park Gates. "I wish we loved each other, Tanya. We'd make a great couple!"
Entering the house she was aware of the lateness of the hour and quietly hurried to her bedroom. She had almost reached it when she saw Adrian come out of his room, and though she tried to draw back into an alcove, he saw her and came toward her, tall and forbidding in a dark blue dressing gown.
"You're late," he stated. "We were worried about you."
"We?" she asked pointedly.
"I was." He paused. "You've never stayed out so late. I suppose you were with Poulton?"
"I was with Roger and his family." She stressed the last part of her sentence but there was no lightening of his expression. "One of Mrs. Poulton's daughters had a baby and I went with her to the hospital."
"Doesn't she have enough daughters of her own to keep her company?"
"She wanted me." Tanya looked at him defiantly. "Do you find that so hard to understand—that somebody wants me?"
His expression grew bleak. "Why do you persist in quarreling with me? Don't you think it's difficult for me too, having you here?"
"I don't know how you think," she said wearily. "You're a stranger to me."
But as she spoke she knew she was not being honest. Standing close to him she was able to remember the emotions he had aroused in her. Without realizing it she swayed toward him, then drew back quickly, ashamed of her weakness. But he did not see the movement toward him; he saw only the swift way in which she recoiled.
"I wish you didn't hate me so much," he said quietly.
"I don't hate you." She half turned away from him. "It's late, Adrian, I want to go to bed."
He walked with her down the corridor, pausing when he reached his own room. "Have you decided what you'll do when you leave here?"
She shrugged. "In the last few years I have learned to take one step at a time. And leaving here will be a major step for me."
"There's no reason why you should go," he said abruptly. "You could still stay."
"After you marry Diana?" Jealousy goaded her into further speech. "Do you want me to be nursemaid to your children?"
Color suffused his face. "What a swine you must think me! I don't know why I said what I did. But I was thinking of you—of your not being alone."
"I won't be alone."
"What does that mean?"
Tanya had made her reply unthinkingly, but now anger decided her to hurt him.
"It means I have no intention of pining for you for the rest of my life. You aren't the only one who will marry again and find happiness."
"Roger Poulton," he muttered. "It hasn't taken you long to fall in love with someone else, then."
"You should be glad for me. At least I won't be on your conscience."
"You were never on my conscience. What happened to us was beyond our control. You can blame it on your government; on the fact that you couldn't leave your parents and follow me—but in all honesty I don't think you can blame it on me."
Because she agreed with him she found her anger ebbing and, as it died away, it was replaced by weariness. "You're right, Adrian. I think it might be better if we don't have conversations late at night. It seems we both say things we regret."
"I don't regret that I married you," he said softly. "I only regret that it didn't work out."
Swiftly she ran from him, wishing he had left these thoughts unspoken. But they remained with her throughout the night, making it impossible for her to sleep, and at dawn she dressed and went to sit by the window, where she watched the sky lighten over the horizon and saw the dark earth turn from gray to green.
Adrian's land; where his children would walk and his wife would be loved.
The knowledg
e filled her with a pain that was somehow too deep for tears and dry-eyed she remained staring through the window.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Hard though he tried, Roger found it impossible to stop thinking of Diana. Her visit to his home had stirred memories that had lain dormant for years, making him recollect the happy times they had shared together as children; the thoughts he had entertained as a teenager, before university and finishing school had parted them. What a pity that, in assuming adult status, people also assumed a different code of behavior—and not their own code either! Often it was foisted on them by someone else—as in Diana's case. Yes, there was no doubt her father—autocratic old moneybags that he was—was a great influence on her life.
Adrian had remained a friend far longer, only the course of their different careers finally severing their relationship. With Diana it had been different. Almost overnight—or so it seemed to him in retrospect—she had changed from the determined little girl who had begged him and Adrian to let her play with them, into a reserved and distant teenager who had made no move to seek him out when she had come home from her Swiss school. Yet she had continued to see Adrian. It was that which had rankled the most.
Without being aware of it he stopped walking, and only when he felt the heat of the sun shining on the top of his head, did he realize he had paused by the stile that led to a short cut to Lord Biddell's property. With a shake of his head, he resumed walking. It was unusual for him to be in the woods at this time of the day, but he had unexpectedly felt the need to be on his own and, refusing to take one more call from a telephone that never seemed to stop ringing, he had escaped from the house.
In the distance he saw the figure of a woman approaching and, reluctant to break his solitude, he swung down to the copse. Unfortunately, she had the same idea, but by then she was close enough to be recognized, and with a sigh he greeted her as she wept to walk past him.
"Hello Diana, aren't you going to talk to me?"
"We said enough the last time we met."
"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. I owe you an apology."
"Thank you." She tried to move on but he still barred her way.
"Why the hurry?" He pointed to an overturned log a few yards away. "Sit down and relax."
Silently following him over to the log, she did so.
"I don't know why I lost my temper with you the other day," he went on abruptly. "My only excuse is that your visit took me by surprise.''
"You made that plain. It obviously never dawned on you it wasn't easy for me to go on seeing you once I started to grow up."
"I know your father wouldn't have approved but—"
"It had nothing to do with my father," she cut in. "It was you."
"How come?"
"Because you're five years older than I am. It didn't bother me when we were children but it made a lot of difference once you were at university."
"It didn't affect your friendship with Adrian. You still went on seeing him.''
"Because our families were friends." She gave him a sideways glance and then quickly averted her face. "You were always so busy with your work and politics," she continued, "that it made me very conscious how childish I was."
It was an explanation he had never thought of and surprise held him captive.
"I don't care if you don't believe me," she said, misreading his silence, "you've always enjoyed thinking the worst of me."
"Don't let's quarrel again," he muttered. "I've already had one wigging from my mother!"
Diana smiled slightly. "She always did loathe bad manners or bullying."
"And still does," he said wryly. "Do you remember the time I made you climb old Jenkins's tree and pinch his apples?"
"I'll never forget the thrashing she gave you when she found out! "Diana admitted.
"But you were a better climber than I was," he grinned. "You had longer legs." He glanced at them and she colored and pulled at her skirt. "You don't need to hide them. They're just as lovely now. It's the only part of you that hasn't changed."
"I haven't changed, Roger. You're the one who's done that."
"Village boy makes good," he said sourly. "Is that what you mean?"
"Not quite in those terms," she said lightly. "But then I was never as sorry for you as you were for yourself." She heard his indrawn breath and gave him a cool look. "You are, you know. That's why you're on the defensive with me. The only difference between us is one of your own making. You're the one who's put up the barriers.
But then you like to have something to vault over. It makes you feel good."
"Have you quite finished?"
"No." Now she had started, she seemed to have lost all inhibitions. "I can see you in ten years' time: carrying a ministerial briefcase but still wearing an old crumpled suit as proof that you haven't forgotten your humble origins! I hate people who believe they have to keep waving their past at you.''
He opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it and tightly clamped his lips. The silence lengthened and he kicked moodily at some twigs.
"Why are we quarreling, Diana? When you were a kid we used to be friends."
"I'm not your enemy now."
"We're on different sides."
"That still doesn't make me your enemy."
"Do you honestly think I'm taking Tanya out in order to pump her about Adrian?" he asked suddenly.
This time it was Diana who allowed the silence to last for several moments before she replied. "It seemed feasible at the time," she confessed, "but—but not any more. I can understand why you like seeing her. She's a very beautiful woman."
"She also has the gift of understanding."
"Meaning I haven't? "
"I wasn't particularizing." He turned toward her. "Why do you assume I'm attacking you?"
"Because I get the feeling you are."
"Maybe I'm on the defensive with you," he said abruptly. "You're a tantalizing female.''
She jumped up, but he rose at the same time and they found themselves standing close together.
"You're acting as if you're afraid of me," he said softly.
"Why should I be?"
"I’ll show you," he said thickly and pulled her into his arms.
His kiss was fiercely passionate, as if desire had been building up in him and been instantly released by the touch of her. It was a touch that he savored like a gourmet at a three-star restaurant. He slowly caressed her shoulders and her back; his body pressed itself to the slim length of hers and his lips moved over her eyes and cheeks and temples, while his nostrils breathed deep of her fragrance.
"Diana," he said shakily. "Diana."
Docilely she remained within his hold, knowing it was useless to fight him and lacking the impetus even to try. She sought to make her mind numb but her body was tinglingly aware of his; of the hard wall of his chest pressing against her breasts; the roughness of his skin against her face and the warmth of his breath as it mingled with hers. Slowly, insidiously, desire for him awakened in her and the numbness that held her mind gave way to a pulsating longing that was unlike anything she had ever experienced. Her lips moved beneath his, parting slightly as his teeth gently nibbled at them, then widening at the more urgent pressure of his tongue. Then with a cry she pushed at his chest. He resisted the movement but as her hands continued to beat at him, he let her go and stepped back. But their eyes remained locked together: his blurred, as if they were still seeing her surrender; hers dark with despair.
"You had no right to do that," she whispered.
"Why not? A cat may look at a queen!"
"Don't!" she cried. "Please, Roger, don't!"
Long after Diana had run from the wood, Roger remained where he was, trying and failing to assess his feelings. What was there about Diana that made him behave like a lout? Was it because he wished to destroy her air of touch-me-not, or because she aroused a deeper, more primitive streak in him? Yet he was no tinder box with other women. On the contrary, he had ofte
n been accused of having too much control. Wryly he shook his head. That was something Diana would never be able to accuse him of! It looked as if he owed her another apology. But this time when he made it, he would give her no more cause for complaint.
That same evening, Tanya went with him to one of his meetings. As always she sat among the audience, and afterward gave him her impression of how it had gone.
"I thought you spoke better than I have ever heard you," she said as they drove away from the hall. "You were far more explanatory and less—bullying is not the right word but I do not know what other one to use."
"Hectoring," he said. "That's what my family always accuses me of doing. I can't help it though. If I feel things deeply I get intense about them."
"It is better to feel things too deeply than not to feel at all."
He gave her a sideways glance. "Are you speaking from experience?"
"It is better than speaking from ignorance!"
He gave a short laugh. "I wish everybody remembered that—including me!" He slowed the car even more. "How about a drink at the Cap and Bells? I'm beginning to feel guilty that each time I ask you out, you have to hear me hector!"
"I enjoy listening to you."
"How do I compare with Adrian?" From the corner of his eye he saw her give a slight start and said hastily: "Forget the question. I'd no business asking it."
"I would be happy to answer it but—but I've never heard him speak."
"Well I'm damned! I suppose he takes it for granted you'll vote for him whether you hear him or not?"
"I do not have a vote," she smiled. "I have not been here long enough."
He was still chuckling at this as they entered the private bar of the Cap and Bells. It was the first time Tanya had been inside an English public house and she looked curiously at the shaded lights and polished oak furniture. "It is nice here. Always I thought a pub had bare floors and many people."
"They do," Roger agreed. "But saloon bars are better furnished and quiet. You might even find a princess coming here."
"A princess?"
"Diana," Roger explained, looking uncomfortable.
"Why do you not like her?"
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