Out of Control

by Charlotte Lamb

  The day was growing very warm now. Liza was delighted to hear that Hartwell had its own swimming pool, and that afternoon, after a light salad lunch, they all swam and then sunbathed around the pool. It was an indoor one, but had a sun roof which electronically slid back when required so that you could have the best of both worlds. Keir had vanished, but his sister joined them in the pool and while they were lying on the striped red and white loungers the butler brought them iced drinks and some nuts, and a bowl of summer fruit: peaches and nectarines and strawberries.

  'Pinch me, I'm dreaming,' Pam whispered, sitting up as the man departed and reaching for a strawberry which she slowly slid into her mouth with a beatific expression.

  Liza turned her head to smile; she had been lying on her front for half an hour to get her shoulders brown, but the sun was so hot that she decided she ought to get up soon and adjust the striped umbrella to give her body a little more shade. The trouble was, she was too tired to move.

  'Now I know how the idle rich live,' Pam said cheerfully, eating more strawberries. 'And I think it's great!'

  Pippa Morris looked faintly offended, as if she thought Pam was talking about her.

  Nicky was watching Pam and looking thoughtful. 'I think we could have a shot or two in here—the statuary and the plants are nice.' His eyes wandered around the long, tiled pool room; the water had an unreal blue shimmer, there were white statues elegantly placed on one side among a flurry of dark green tropical plants. The place did have the appearance of an advertisement in some glossy magazine, Liza thought drily, her mouth cynical. The house itself was absolutely real, but this place was an odd addition, although she was very glad of it this afternoon.

  *I talked my mother into having this pool room built,' Pippa Morris said, slowly rubbing oil into her tanned skin. 'She can still swim, even if other exercise is difficult for her. She used to ride a lot, and walk and play golf, but she finds it hard now.'

  'Oh, does this house belong to your mother, then?' asked Pam ingenuously, i thought your brother owned it.'

  Pippa looked down her long nose. 'He does,' she said shortly.

  'And he didn't mind having the pool built?' Pam pressed.

  if it was what my mother wanted, no,' Pippa said with obvious hauteur, and Liza suspected that she had talked her mother into asking Keir to have the pool room built. Did Keir realise that? Pippa was clearly sensitive on the point, but Pam was cheerfully unaware of that.

  Liza heard a sound and turned over to see Keir walking towards them. He had changed into black swimming trunks and her pulses flickered with angry fire at the way he looked. He looked fantastic—it simply wasn't fair how sexy he looked, those long, long legs bare and tanned a warm gold, his hips lean and tapering, his chest a darker shade of brown except where the black coils of hair grew. Liza shut her eyes, but could still see him in her imagination, her body restless on the padded lounger.

  The others greeted him, laughing. There was a splash and Liza felt a spray of cold water hit her hot skin, making her jump. Keir had dived into the pool and began to swim. Liza opened her eyes to watch his body sliding through the blue water, but when he came to the side and heaved himself out she got up and muttered that she was too hot, she was going to have a shower and go back to her bedroom.

  Keir stood there, watching her, his stare wandering over her slender body in the white bikini, and her breasts ached with aroused tension until she could get away from him.

  She showered in one of the narrow changing rooms and towelled herself, then put on her cotton slacks and overblouse. She didn't know how much more of this she could stand—even when they weren't alone she felt the intensity of awareness between herself and Keir, and she couldn't help being afraid that the others would feel it too, soon.

  She rested on her bed for a while later and drifted off to sleep, to be woken when the others came upstairs, talking and laughing after their afternoon by the pool, to change for dinner.

  Pam tapped on her door and grinned at her, sun-flushed. 'I'm having a terrific time, are you, Liza?'

  'Terrific,' Liza said brightly, her teeth aching from the effort of looking happy.

  Pam vanished to dress and Liza slowly got ready, putting on a full-skirted white dress with a low, scooped neckline and a tiny waist. She trod into white high heels and sat at the dressing-table to put on her make-up and do her hair, listening to the sounds in the other rooms; running water, the slam of wardrobe doors, the bang of drawers. She felt oddly isolated; as though her troubled emotions set her apart, cut her off from the others in the party. She felt like someone on a desert island watching the busy waves running up and down on the sands, yet knowing there was no way of escaping.

  She should never have accepted the invitation; she shouldn't have come here.

  Keir would be changing for dinner now, so she felt it would be safe to go downstairs and drifted around the great hall, admiring the burnished armour and the bowls of roses; a strange pairing which was oddly poignant, especially where a few crimson petals had fallen and lay on the glowing wood of the floor, like spilt blood. Liza thought, staring, from some battle long ago.

  That was when she heard music; familiar, haunting music from some old Fred Astaire film. She followed the sound and pushed open a double door to find herself on the threshold of a wide ballroom: parquet floor, pale eau-de-Nil walls, a chandelier and white curtains through which the late afternoon sun shafted poignantly. The music came from an old phonograph with a brass horn; an antique which had to be wound up with a large handle every so often.

  Fascinated, Liza walked into the ballroom which seemed to be quite empty, but as her heels clicked on the parquet she heard a movement by the window and looked round with a start to see Keir turn to look at her. He was leaning on the deep bay window, the curtains blowing softly around him, hiding him from her until he turned.

  'What a marvellous old gramophone,' she said huskily and he nodded, coming towards her.

  He had a flower in his hand, she saw; a long-stemmed red rose, one of those from his sister's bowls of flowers in the great hall. He held it out and Liza took it wordlessly.

  Keir put his arm out, staring into her eyes, and she didn't back away as he encircled her waist and drew her close. The music beat in her blood and she felt faint with pleasure and desire. She wanted to cry because it was so beautiful; the music, the sunlight, the empty room, the crimson rose and Keir holding her, moving against her with such fire and gentleness.

  'I love you,' he said and the words had a finality which reached through her defences and made her weak. She couldn't think for the moment, she could only feel, and so she put her head down on his strong shoulder and let her body sway in his arms, surrendered to him.

  Later, she would remember her fear, her need to protect herself, but at that instant nothing mattered but Keir's arms around her and the sweetness and Tightness of loving him.

  She never knew how long they danced; it must have been a matter of a moment because the record was slowing, dragging out the music, needing to be rewound, but for that brief spell they flowed in each other's arms around the sunlit room, in and out of shadows, with the white curtains blowing and their cheeks pressing against each other.

  Then Keir stopped and leaned over to wind the gramophone and she had that time to think, her face paling, her heart beating far too fast.

  i can't,' she said and Keir looked quickly at her, his brows a black line above his vivid blue eyes.

  'Stop running, darling. Start trusting me, you can trust me, Liza. You'll see. I'll never hurt you, never knowingly. I love you.'

  'You don't understand!' she cried in anguish, remem­bering the past, and he held her very tightly, both arms round her.

  'I do. You got badly burnt, but it's over, Liza. It's done with, and you have got to forget it or you'll never live fully again. You know I'm right, don't you? It's only common sense.'

  'Perhaps,' she said, holding him at arm's length, fighting his arms, her blonde head flung ba
ck in agitation. 'But not with you, Keir. It wouldn't work.'

  'Why not?' he frowned, watching her. His eyes saw far too much and she looked down, colour flowing up her face. 'Why not me?' Keir insisted harshly, i thought... are you saying you don't care? I was sure you did.' He suddenly caught her face in both hands and bent to kiss her urgently, his mouth hungry, fierce and hot, forcing down her weak attempt to resist him, wringing a reluctant response from her parted lips, until she stopped fighting altogether and her arms went round his neck as she kissed him back with the same need and passion. Once she had given in, she couldn't stop kissing him, she had been dying to all day, for ages, it seemed to have been for ever.

  'Why not me?' Keir whispered at last, lifting his head and looking drowsily at her, his pupils huge and very black. His mouth was smiling in triumph, elation; he glittered with it and she groaned.

  'Oh, Keir, listen ... I have a hundred reasons, can't you see?'

  'Name one.'

  'I can't,' she wailed, 'I mean, I can't get involved with a man like you, I don't belong with all this, or with someone like you.'

  'You belong to me and with me,' Keir said, kissing her neck deeply, his mouth pressed deep into her flesh. 'And I belong with you and to you. It's mutual, isn't it? You just told me, your mouth told me, you don't need words! We don't, Liza—we can kiss and know everything, can't we?'

  Puzzled, she listened—know everything? she thought. What do I know about him? She had met him such a short time ago, and already she had known a dozen different Keir Giffords: the shabby, teasing man she met that first night in the mist, the elegant one in polo gear and knee-length polished boots, the formal city magnate in his pin-stripes and dark-windowed limousine, and this man, holding her in his arms, kissing her throat, whispering in that deep, husky voice which made her go hot and cold with passion.

  But what was he, who was he—the man behind all the faces, the images, those bewildering, changing images of power and vitality?

  'Only one thing matters,' Keir said and she was intent, needing to know—what mattered? He looked into her eyes and her body melted. He smiled and she shivered. He slowly brushed her mouth with his and she shut her eyes and moaned.

  She was out of control; she had been for a long time now, even while she tried to pretend it wouldn't happen, couldn't happen.

  'This matters,' Keir said softly. 'Just this—you and me.'

  She was holding the rose he had given her; twisting the green stem in restless, tormented fingers. The thorns ran into her flesh, but she didn't even feel them then.

  'But if it doesn't last?' she said. 'What if it all comes apart in our hands? I couldn't bear it, not again.' And she thought with wild helplessness: out of control, I'm out of control—must he look at me like that? He's turning my very bones to water. I wish he'd kiss me, I need to feel his mouth—I'd feel stronger if he would kiss me. Or weaker—but did it matter which?

  'Liza, what do you want me to say? We can only try, like everybody else,' he said. 'Every other human being in the world who falls in love has to take the same risks. We're all in the same boat, we all want it to last for ever, but we can never know—we can only do our best, hang on and hope.' He was talking calmly, but his eyes weren't calm. Keir was fighting now, fighting for her; she saw the strain and urgency he was trying to hide and was shaken. Was Keir uncertain, after all? It wasn't like the Keir she had imagined, for she had never seen him on edge or distraught, as she suddenly sensed he could be now, behind that taut face.

  'Your family will hate the idea of me . .. and you,' she muttered, frowning, confused and unsure.

  'My mother likes you—she knows how I feel and she's happy about the idea.' Keir was watching her coaxingly, wanting her to believe him.

  'You told her?' Liza had guessed, though; his mother had dropped more than one hint, and Liza instinctively knew that Mrs Gifford liked her. 'But it's more than that,' she said. 'There's your sister and ... oh, everyone! I don't know if I could face all the fuss and the newspaper gossip and ...'

  'Liza,' Keir said, his voice harsh. 'None of this means a damn, you know that. I love you, that's the only thing that matters.'

  She tore her eyes away and looked down at the rose she still held. That was when she saw the tiny spots of blood on her fingers and she started to smile, she didn't know why. Keir was right; even if it hurt, love was all that mattered. She slowly held the rose out to him and said huskily, laughingly, 'Mind the thorns!' and Keir thread­ed the rose through the lapel buttonhole on his jacket, and then he took her in his arms and held her for a long, long time, in total silence. They understood each other without needing to say a word, thought Liza. Why had she ever been afraid of losing control? Her instincts were wiser than she was.