by Anne Mather
‘Really?’ Ben regarded her scathingly. ‘I thought you said you didn’t want to encourage him.’
‘I don’t.’ Shelley shook her head. ‘Oh—this is ridiculous! I don’t have to answer to you, Ben. You’re not my keeper.’
‘No, I’m not, am I?’ Ben thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his beige corded pants, and Shelley’s heart ached for the lines of weariness etched upon his lean features. ‘Okay.’ He lifted his shoulders in a gesture of defeat. ‘If that’s the way you want it, who am I to argue?’ He brushed past her, on his way to the door, and her arm tingled at the involuntary contact. ‘But I will stay the night, if you don’t object. I told Mrs Carr I would, and I’d hate to have to think of an explanation for changing my mind at midnight.’
Shelley stood in the living room long after the sound of his footsteps had faded. It was ironic, she thought, that Ben should feel resentful of Charles, when Charles himself was so sympathetic to the situation. She should have explained what they had been talking about, made it clear that Charles was their friend, not Ben’s enemy. But to have done that would have opened up the whole question of their relationship again, and surely it was better to leave things as they were?
Extinguishing the downstairs lights, she finally went up to bed. Her brain was in a turmoil, and because she didn’t expect to sleep, she spent some time in the bathroom, removing every scrap of make-up. Then, after putting on her nightgown, she slipped between the sheets, and tried to drum up some enthusiasm for the paperback novel she was reading.
But it was no good. The words were meaningless daubs on the paper, her mind bedevilled by thoughts of Ben, and the persistent suspicion that he was not sleeping either. And he needed his sleep, she thought anxiously. She could spend the next day in bed if she wanted, but he didn’t have that privilege.
The sound of a door opening further along the corridor brought a quiver of anticipation, but although she heard footsteps on the landing, they did not stop at her door. As Mrs Carr’s rooms were on the ground floor, it could only be Ben. Evidently, he was on his way downstairs, and she waited in some apprehension for him to come back up. Perhaps he had changed his mind, she thought, as the minutes stretched. Perhaps he had decided to go back to his own house, after all. She ought to hope he had, but she didn’t, and she expelled her breath a little more freely, when she heard him coming back.
A door closed, and Shelley slumped against her pillows. Ridiculously, she had hoped he might see the light below her door and knock. But after the evening he had spent and the words they had exchanged, it had been a foolish aspiration. If she wanted to be with him, she would have to make the first move, and if she did she would be admitting that everything Charles had said was true.
With a feeling of desperation, she got out of bed and crossed the room to examine her reflection in the mirror of the dressing table. The image that met her startled gaze was not reassuring. She had thrust her fingers into her hair so many times, it stood out around her head in wild disorder. And her eyes were wary slits of green, the pale lids heavy with frustration. Even her cheeks were pallid, the kindness of the lamplight merely softening the lines that she found so offensive. Only her mouth looked vulnerable, she thought. For the rest, she looked every second of her age. Ben should see her now, he should. Perhaps then he would realise for himself what she had been trying to tell him.
Before second thoughts could weaken her resolve, Shelley swung about and strode out of her bedroom. Her long legs soon covered the dozen steps between her room and Ben’s, and she had turned the handle and opened his door before realising the room was in darkness.
The sudden plunge into inky blackness was disorientating, and before she could recover herself, a lamp beside the bed was illuminated. Ben looked across at her from the tumbled disorder of his pillows, propped on one arm, the cream sheets falling away from the dark gold beauty of his body.
‘Shelley!’ he exclaimed, gazing at her with a mixture of anger and disbelief, and Shelley wished she had the strength to run. But, instead, she stood, letting his silver-lashed eyes move over her, assessing every inch of her scantily clad body.
‘For Christ’s sake!’ he muttered at last, pushing back the covers and thrusting his feet out of bed, and as he came to his feet, she saw that he was naked. ‘Are you crazy?’ he added, the space between them narrowing to a handsbreadth. ‘For God’s sake, Shelley, you’re shivering! What on earth have you been doing to yourself?’
Shelley found it incredibly difficult to say anything, but she had to stop him from touching her. If he took her in his arms now, she would not be able to resist, and that was not why she had come; not why she had come at all.
‘Lo-look at me Ben!’ she said unsteadily. ‘Take a good look. Can you see these lines around my eyes? Have you noticed how sallow my skin is? And my hair! It’s not soft and silky, it’s thick—and coarse! And it’s impossible to control. I’m thin. I’m not nicely rounded, I’m angular, but people think I’m attractive because I wear clothes well—’
‘Will you stop that?’ Ben’s momentary astonishment quickly gave way to impatience, and ignoring her protests, his hands descended on her shoulders. ‘For pity’s sake, Shelley,’ he groaned, resting his chin against her forehead and then, giving in to his emotions, he jerked her into his arms.
‘You don’t understand,’ she breathed, her face pressed into the hollow of his throat. ‘I’m not good for you. I came to tell you that. I came to show you what I’m really like. I’m not the sophisticated career woman you seem to think me. I’m a hysteric and a psychotic, and I’ve got a built-in propensity for disaster!’
‘Oh, love!’ Ben rubbed his cheek against hers. ‘You have the craziest way of showing me you need me.’
‘I—I don’t need you,’ she protested, even though her traitorous limbs were yielding to the muscled strength of his, and his laughter was low and intimate.
‘You have the devil’s own way of showing it,’ he responded, his tongue wetting the hollow of her ear. ‘Hell, Shelley, don’t put me through any more misery! You have no idea what I went through while I was waiting for you this evening. God, I wanted to kill Brandeth! And when you came back and said you’d been to his house, I wanted to kill you, too.’
‘Ben—’
‘It’s true.’ He drew back to slide the straps of her nightgown off her shoulders, and when it pooled about her ankles, he picked her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. ‘I love you,’ he told her huskily, lowering himself beside her, and as his lips explored the sensitive skin on the inner curve of her arm, the soft mass of hair that furred his thighs caressed her stomach. ‘And to me you’ll always be beautiful,’ he added, his lips slanting hungrily across hers, so that any further objections Shelley might have made were stifled by the searching pressure of his mouth…
CHAPTER TEN
SHELLEY was jolted into consciousness by the instinctive awareness that something had wakened her. For a few moments the unaccustomed warmth of Ben’s body curled at her back, his arm looped possessively across her hip, caused a delicious feeling of lethargy to encompass her, but then the realisation that it was already light outside proved a potent deterrent to what she was thinking.
Grasping the wrist of the arm that was curled beneath her head, Shelley examined the face of his watch. It was half-past-seven, and her heart leapt into her throat. What had probably disturbed her was Mrs Carr, collecting the morning’s milk from the doorstep, and any time now the housekeeper could appear, with a tray of early morning tea for her employer’s son.
‘Ben!’ Turning hastily on to her back, Shelley dislodged his arm, and his hand shifted to lie confidingly between her thighs. It was a devastating distraction, and one to which she was not immune, and she lifted the errant member and returned it to him.
‘Will you stop moving about,’ he mumbled presently, burying his face more deeply into the tangled curtain of her hair. His hand sought the rounded swell of her breasts with evident satisfaction.
‘Mmm, I thought I had only dreamed it.’ His eyes flickered lazily. ‘But I didn’t, did I?’
Once before, Shelley had thought she might drown in his eyes, and now, with their dark brilliance muted to a smouldering charcoal, she was briefly convinced there could be no kinder fate.
‘It’s late,’ she breathed, without much conviction, and Ben shifted so that she could feel the stirring length of him against her.
‘It’s early,’ he contradicted her huskily, after giving his watch a careless glance. ‘I don’t have to be at the surgery until nine.’
‘But, Mrs Carr—’
‘To hell with Mrs Carr,’ he retorted thickly, and his mouth crushed hers just as the bedroom door, which hadn’t been properly closed the night before, was thrust open.
Shelley closed her eyes in dismay. What she had feared had happened, she thought weakly. Mrs Carr would now know why Ben had driven all the way out to Craygill when his mother wasn’t even at home, and she was bound to tell Marsha, unless Ben could persuade her otherwise.
It took Ben’s harsh ejaculation and a shuddering moan from someone else to convince Shelley that something worse had happened. Opening her eyes, she saw Ben staring over her head at the door, his face twisted into a mask of weary frustration. Then she, too, turned her head, just in time to see Marsha herself disappearing into the corridor.
* * *
Ten minutes later, Shelley entered the morning room and found Ben’s mother hunched at the table, a cup of coffee clutched between her palms. The remnants of an early breakfast littered the crisp white tablecloth—a rack of toast, marmalade, a pot of butter—but it was evident from Marsha’s attitude that food no longer interested her. She was dressed in the same clothes in which she had left home the day before, Shelley saw in surprise, and briefly she wondered why Marsha had not stayed over, as she had planned to do. Unless someone had warned her about the relationship between her son and her friend, Shelley speculated uneasily. She couldn’t help the unworthy suspicion that there might be some connection between Marsha’s unexpected return and Sarah’s convenient absence.
Ben had been less willing to draw conclusions. On the contrary, once the first shock of his mother’s appearance had worn off, he had been quite philosophic.
‘It was bound to happen sooner or later,’ he argued gently, preventing Shelley from leaping out of bed and following her. ‘I’m sorry she had to find out in such a brutal way, but there’s nothing we can do about it now.’
‘I have to see her. I have to speak to her,’ Shelley had retorted fiercely, fighting the insidious temptation to stay where she was. ‘Ben, let me go! Please! I have to try and explain. Though goodness knows how I’m going to do it!’
He had let her go eventually, but not before he had elicited a promise from her not to speak to his mother until he was with her. ‘We can do this together, or not at all,’ he told her roughly, brushing her bruised lips with the pad of his thumb. ‘Get dressed. I’ll meet you in fifteen minutes. And stop looking so anxious. It’s not the end of the world.’
But it seemed like it. The end of her world, at least, Shelley reflected bitterly, as she stood just inside the door of the morning room. She had ignored Ben’s advice and thrown on her clothes after the most cursory rinses of her face, and with her hair screwed into a hasty knot, she felt exactly like a schoolgirl up before the headmistress. But she had to talk to Marsha before Ben appeared. She had to try and tell her that she had no intention of taking him away from his fiancée, or of doing anything which might cause Marsha any pain.
‘Marsha,’ she ventured now, her voice soft and breathy, and although the older woman did not look up, the sudden stiffening of her shoulders was revealing. ‘Marsha, it’s not like you think.’
Marsha replaced her coffee cup in its saucer with excessive care. Then, hooking the heel of one hand beneath her chin, she lifted her head. ‘No?’
‘No.’ Shelley moistened her dry lips, appalled by the bluish tinge of Marsha’s features. The older woman looked more than tired, she looked bone weary, and Shelley knew she would never forgive herself for what she had done. ‘Marsha, you have to believe me!’
‘Believe what?’ Marsha waved a bitter hand in the air. ‘That you were not in my son’s bed? That you hadn’t just spent the night with him? That you were not making love with him?’
Shelley sighed. ‘I know how it looks, but—’
‘Oh, Shelley!’ Before she could say any more, Marsha’s impassioned voice prevented her. ‘How could you? How could you? And to think—I trusted you!’
‘Marsha, listen to me—’
‘Why should I listen to you?’ Marsha’s lips twisted convulsively. ‘My God! And I felt sorry for you! When you came here in such distress, stringing that tale about Mike Berlitz, I really wanted to help you. I didn’t know you were using me to get at my son!’
‘I wasn’t!’ Shelley’s voice broke. ‘It wasn’t like that. For pity’s sake, Marsha, what do you take me for?’
‘I don’t know, do I?’ Marsha retorted coldly. ‘I thought I did, but I don’t. For all I know, you may have led Berlitz on like he says; used him! A woman who would seduce her best friend’s son—a boy of twenty-five—’
‘I’m not a boy.’ Ben’s calm impassive voice was like a draught of cool water in the desert, and Shelley turned to him tremulously, her eyes wide with pain and humiliation. ‘What have you been saying to her, Mother? She didn’t seduce me, if that’s what you’re accusing her of.’
‘Keep out of this, Dickon.’ Marsha pushed back her chair and got to her feet, supporting herself on the rim of the table. ‘This is between Shelley and me. I’ll speak to you later.’
‘You’ll speak to me now,’ retorted Ben grimly. ‘I’m not a child, Mother. You can’t accuse Shelley without accusing me. For Christ’s sake, I seduced her! Is that blatant enough for you?’
‘Ben, please—’ Shelley spread an arm as if to stop him. ‘You didn’t seduce me. Both of us know that. And you’re only making things worse by getting involved.’
‘Getting involved!’ echoed Ben incredulously. ‘I’m not getting involved, I am involved. Shelley, let me tell my mother how it is. The sooner she understands the facts, the better.’
‘No—’ began Shelley faintly, but Marsha’s strangled: ‘What facts?’ overrode her.
‘I’m in love with Shelley, Mother,’ Ben declared firmly, in spite of the younger woman’s moan of protest. ‘This isn’t an affair. I want to marry her. And we can do that with or without your blessing; it’s up to you.’
‘Marry her!’
Marsha almost choked on the words, and Shelley gave Ben a look of mortification. ‘It’s not true!’ she exclaimed, ignoring his warning imprecation. ‘I have no intention of marrying Ben—Dickon! It’s like you say—he is still a boy; an idealist. What we’ve done is wrong, but not irretrievable. If you’d just stop hating me long enough to listen to me, I’m sure you’d understand.’
The slamming of a door behind them was the first indication Shelley had that Ben had walked out. Seconds later the outer door slammed, too, and in spite of her conviction, a knife-like spasm twisted in her stomach.
‘I think you’d better go, too, Shelley,’ said Marsha at last, sinking wearily back into her chair. ‘Whatever you say, I’ll never forgive you for causing this rift between Dickon and me. Maybe it was like you said. Maybe Dickon was equally to blame. But you’re older, Shelley. You should have stopped it before it began. Or was it simply a way to get Mike Berlitz out of your mind?’
Shelley shook her head. ‘You don’t believe that.’
‘I don’t know what to believe.’ Marsha spread her hands. ‘It’s obvious Berlitz still wants you, but how can I be sure?’
Shelley’s shoulders sagged. ‘You saw Mike then.’
‘Yesterday, yes.’ Marsha’s expression darkened. ‘For precisely fifteen minutes. Then I walked out.’
Shelley gazed at her blankly. ‘You walked out?’
�
�His—terms—were not acceptable then,’ stated Marsha flatly. ‘Now, I’m not so sure.’
Shelley blinked. ‘What do you mean?’
‘It was a ruse,’ said Marsha, tracing the rim of her coffee cup with her finger nail. ‘As you suspected, didn’t you?’ Her eyes met Shelley’s bitterly. ‘I should have known. Capitol Television has never been known for promoting provincial artists.’
‘You’re not a provincial artist, Marsha,’ protested Shelley fiercely. ‘What did he say? I thought it was Tim Hedley you were going to see.’
‘It was. He was there.’ Marsha shrugged. ‘Unfortunately, as you should know, he takes his orders from Mike Berlitz. And Berlitz had other things in mind.’
Shelley shook her head. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘So am I.’ Marsha grimaced. ‘If I’d known my promotion was contingent upon persuading you to change your mind, I’d never have left Craygill. I wish to God I hadn’t.’
‘Oh, Marsha!’
Shelley would have gone to her then, but the older woman’s outstretched arm prevented her. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t need your sympathy, Shelley. Like I said, I wish you would go. I’m sorry, but you’re no longer welcome at Askrig House.’
* * *
The Capitol Television building stood in Prince Albert Road, close to Regent’s Park. In her early days with the company, Shelley used to bring sandwiches to work and eat her lunch in the park, throwing crusts to the pigeons that flocked around the visitors. Even in winter there were always plenty of takers for the crumbs of bread and cake that found their way onto the footpaths, and now, in high summer, the throngs of children guaranteed good pickings for the hungry birds.
Today, however, Shelley was in no mood to pay attention to the crowds making their way into the park. Leaving her car in the over-crowded lot that adjoined the complex, she walked swiftly into the television building. She had an early morning appointment with her employer, and she had the feeling that no matter how confident she felt, this was not going to be a pleasant interview.