Winter Sunlight

by Susan Alexander

  Sophie took the child in her arms to soothe and quieten her, wondering what she could tell the sensitive little girl.

  'Your mummy has a lot to think about, you know,' she said gently.

  'Has she?'

  'All mothers are busy people and they don't always have time to play and cuddle. But your mummy's very proud of you, and she wants you to grow up to be clever and well behaved.'

  A smothered sniffle reached Sophie, and she smoothed the disordered hair back from the small face. 'You're going to be very beautiful, you know, and that's something you have from your mother. Just think how much you'll enjoy being grown up and admired. I bet when you're sixteen you'll have all the boys wanting to take you out.'

  'I hate boys. They're all like Emil,' Erika informed her crossly.

  'If you're going to look like that no one will admire you, so it'll be just as well if you don't like them.' Sophie leaned over and picked up a hand mirror. 'Here,' she said, 'look at your face.' Erika shook her head. 'It looks like this,' Sophie said, and pulled a hideous grimace.

  'Oh, Sophie, you look awful!'

  'So, just imagine if I had that expression all the time. You'd run away, wouldn't you?'

  'I don't know,' the little girl said thoughtfully. 'I might get used to it—if you were kind.'

  Sophie leaned forward and kissed her lightly. 'And now it's time for sleep. Come on, cuddle down with teddy. I'll stay for a minute.'

  'Till I'm asleep?' Erika pleaded.

  'A little while,' repeated Sophie firmly.

  The child's hand in hers, she sat in the dark, the night light flickering sending shadows on to the ceiling, the shape of toys and furniture strangely distorted.

  Children.

  Her throat contracted. Heartache there was in plenty when one was little. She sighed, the feeling of tiredness returning. A slight movement caught her eye and she looked at the open door.

  Max.

  He stood in the shadows of the corridor, the night light reaching only the black of his evening dress and the gleam of white linen. How long had he been standing there? Had he heard the little girl?

  For a long moment they stared at each other, and Sophie wished he'd go away. She couldn't face another emotional scene. This time tomorrow she would be in Munich, spending the night in some impersonal hotel, ready for the morning flight to London. And she wanted no more memories to take with her.

  He beckoned to her and she got up. Smoothing the blanket across the sleeping child, she tiptoed to the door, closing it quietly behind her. Her arm was gripped tightly and he pushed her into her sitting-room, turning on the light and closing the door to the nursery. He seemed enormous in the small room, towering over her, almost menacing.

  'Why aren't you downstairs?' he demanded grimly.

  'I—I explained to the Frau Doktor that I…'

  'Yes, she told me,' he interrupted. 'But I want you downstairs.'

  'I'm sorry, I don't wish to come,' she said stiffly.

  'I'm not interested in your wishes. I want it.'

  'Please, Max, don't be difficult. You know your— the Frau Doktor doesn't want me there.'

  'She is a guest in my house and has no say in the matter.' He was angry and she saw the familiar flare of his nostrils as he strove to control it.

  'But why, Max? I leave tomorrow, and I really do have things to do.'

  'I don't intend to stand here arguing with you. I'm not answerable to you—yet,' he stressed, and watched the colour come into her face. His eyes softened and glimmered with humour. 'I expect you downstairs in fifteen minutes—and not in that uniform. I assume you have a dress. You do occasionally wear ordinary clothes?'

  She lifted her head, an angry retort on her lips, but he forestalled her. 'I'm tired, Sophie, and can't wait for this evening to end. If you're not downstairs in fifteen minutes, I'll come back here and dress you myself.'

  Their eyes locked, both angry, their faces set and obstinate. Suddenly he smiled.

  'I always wanted a woman with spirit. But now I've met you I'm not sure I still do,' he said ruefully.

  'Oh, go away,' she said crossly.

  'Fourteen and a half minutes,' Max said quietly before he closed the door behind him.

  A needle-sharp shower revived her, keeping tiredness at bay, and she felt refreshed as she surveyed her meagre wardrobe. She hadn't brought much, and there were only two dresses that were vaguely suitable. She chose the green. In heavy velvet, the low neckline flattered her skin, the skirt flowing in deep folds to the tips of high-heeled evening sandals, dyed to match the dress. She curled her hair into a thick chignon against her neck and clipped on her antique earrings, a find from London's Portobello Road market, the deep red-gold gleaming against the black of her hair.

  Downstairs the doors were open, people thronging from one room to another, some dancing where the floor had been cleared, others sitting with coffee cups and wine glasses. Sophie felt awkward coming into a gathering as the party appeared to be breaking up, and she wished she had ignored Max's orders and stayed upstairs. She made her way to the drinks table, more to hold a glass than because she wanted anything to drink. Behind her the music stopped.

  'My dance, I think.'

  Max removed the glass from her nervous fingers and guided her on to the dance floor. The pianist struck up another tune and she held herself stiffly in his arms. His look travelled across her face to the earrings. She could feel the heat rise in her body as his eyes travelled down and lingered on the V of her dress where her breasts rose and fell. Finally his glance returned to her face, noting the flush. Then he smiled.

  'I like it,' he whispered, and pulled her close, moving with her to the music, his legs guiding her body and reducing her own to quivering jelly as she held on to him. With one of his arms round her back and the other holding her hand against his chest, they danced, and Sophie gave herself up to the delight of his lovemaking.

  Because that was what he was doing, making love to her in public on the dance floor. She lowered her head against his shoulder and they moved as one, Max's cheek bent to her hair, his mouth at her ear.

  'Isn't it lovely?' he whispered, and she trembled as his breath touched her skin, oblivious now of everything round her, aware only of his body in rhythm with hers, his heart beating under her hand and his fingers on her spine making her head spin.

  Finally the music stopped. He kept his hand on her back and steered her towards the door. But she moved away as someone stopped him, determined not to be seen leaving the room with him. Across the dance floor Dorothea was staring at her. As she stood there, superbly gowned in black silk, her hair curling riotously round her face, her eyes were furious. As Sophie turned away from the malevolent stare, she wondered if Max realised how much he had angered his beautiful cousin by insisting on her own presence downstairs tonight.

  She wandered out into the hall, wondering how soon she could disappear upstairs. Here was bustle and movement as guests began to leave, the front door opening briefly to admit an icy wind before it closed on another departing figure.

  Through the double doors she could see Dorothea with Max. They appeared to be arguing. For a moment Sophie thought Max looked straight at her, but his face registered no recognition, and the next minute he had swung Dorothea across the dance floor and into the now deserted dining-room.

  They stopped before a huge mirror, and Max had his back to her, his face reflected faintly in the glass. This would be her chance to slip away, Sophie thought, and she turned towards the stairs.

  Just then Max bent his head and kissed Dorothea passionately on the mouth.

  Sophie froze, her body rigid with shock as the pain rushed to her heart. As if in a nightmare she watched the two figures entwined for endless moments. Finally the dark head lifted and their eyes met.

  Like a picture in slow motion, his face came into focus in the mirror. There was no sign of pleasure in his eyes, only a dark, grim determination. Then the intent stare changed as he smiled, a cruel, bitte
r smile, twisting his face into a grimace of triumph, as though he had achieved something he'd intended.

  Was it for this he wanted her downstairs? Had he planned it all along, to show her where his real feelings lay? Or was he punishing her for her refusal of him? For a moment longer shock kept Sophie motionless.

  Then she moved. Swiftly she headed for the front door. Dragging it open, she ran out, heedless of the freezing cold or the snow that instantly penetrated her flimsy shoes.

  On through the gate she went, running recklessly and then stumbling as the weight of the snow slowed her down. Tears streaming down her face, she struggled on till finally she sank down, oblivious of the cold as she fainted.

  CHAPTER SIX

  She was being carried. Strong arms were holding her against a warm body. They were climbing the back stairs, so it had to be Peter who had found her. The arms released her into a deep chair in front of a blazing fire and she began to shiver in the sudden heat. Her shoes were removed and her dress unzipped and pulled awkwardly over her head. Her arms were pushed into a woollen dressing gown and her feet tucked into a blanket. The pins were removed from her hair and her head covered with a towel. As someone began to rub her hair, her mind finally focused.

  'Where am I?' Sophie asked numbly.

  'In my bedroom,' said Max tonelessly.

  For a moment her senses were too dulled to take it in. Then she screamed. 'No… I…'

  His mouth covered hers, silencing her protest, and she stared at him, bemused, feeling nothing at the touch of his lips. He lifted his head and put his hand over her mouth.

  'Please don't scream. You'll wake the children.'

  Wide-eyed and still in shock, she nodded. Max took his hand away and moved out of her range of vision, while she sat numb, unable to think, unwilling to feel, her hands gripping the blanket that covered her legs. He pushed a glass into her hands and she drank automatically. The hot sweet tea was laced with alcohol and steadied her, but her mind remained blank and frozen even as her shivering began to subside.

  'Now.' He drew up a chair, his eyes intent on her face.

  She turned away. 'I want to go to my room,' she mumbled.

  'And so you will—shortly.' He spoke as to a child, kind, firm and impersonal as he took the glass from her hands. 'But first we have to talk.'

  'No.' The distaste washed across her face.

  He didn't touch her, but neither did he move away, and she was aware of his presence, too close for comfort.

  'Please,' she made to get up, 'I can't stay here.'

  'This is my room and we will not be disturbed. The guests have gone and it will be assumed we are asleep in our respective beds.'

  Sophie's nerves quivered at his words. Her numbed senses were returning to life and she was afraid—of what she might say and what he could do to her. He reached for her hands, but she shrank back from his touch.

  'Don't touch me, please,' she whispered.

  'All right, I won't touch you.' His voice was careful, controlled. 'But I want you to listen to me— hear me out.'

  'No.' She looked away from him into the fire, silent, sullen.

  'I had to know, Sophie,' he said, his voice suddenly urgent. 'I realise it was cruel, but I had to know,' he repeated. 'Tomorrow you would have gone and God knows when we would have met again, how long before I could have followed you.'

  She looked at him, a frown between her brows, unable to follow what he was saying.

  'Yes, I kissed Dorothea,' he went on grimly, 'but before I did so, I saw you in the mirror, watching us.'

  'But why?' she asked helplessly. 'It was stupid— cruel.'

  'I hoped to see jealousy in your face, the same jealousy I'd felt when I saw you with that handsome boy. And I had to know if you wanted me as desperately as I want you.'

  'And you were successful, weren't you?' she said bitterly.

  'What I didn't expect was your anguish.' His voice was low and vehement. 'I'll never forget how you looked. The surprise in your face, the shock—and the pain. I didn't realise how much—how I could hurt you,' he finished slowly. He looked across at her, the firelight creating shadows in his cheeks, his eyes shimmering with some emotion she couldn't name. 'Will you forgive me?' he whispered.

  Sophie felt the tension lock in her throat; all the desperate emotions she'd tried so hard to repress were creating havoc inside her, and suddenly she lost control. Reaching her hands to cover her face, she began to cry, the silent tears trickling through her fingers as she fought to bite back the sobs that threatened.

  'Oh, my dear, don't!' Max was at her side, cradling her in his arms, pulling her down on to the floor before the fire and holding her protectively. 'Perhaps I don't understand it all myself,' he said softly. 'I want you too much. It's almost as though I can't let you out of my sight in case you disappear, as though I might wake to find you gone.'

  She turned to him, burying her face against him as the sobs finally escaped her control. He pulled out a handkerchief and mopped her eyes, talking to her softly till her sobs died down and the shock receded from her face. And then they sat together, huddled close, gazing into the fire.

  'You won't leave me now, will you?' he asked at last, more a statement than a question.

  Slowly she drew away from him and got up, the dressing gown trailing, the blanket crumpled in front of the fire as she wrapped herself into a semblance of order, pushing the hair back from her face. She stood by the window and looked out into the darkness, knowing what her answer would be. She couldn't leave him; she loved him too much. At last she acknowledged it openly. Passion was there, but infatuation it was not. Idly she wondered how long she had loved him. Had it started when he saved her that day in the mountains? Dimly she sensed she would love him always, that there could be no one else for her after Max.

  So she would stay with him. Nothing could be worse than being without him. She had no experience of what an affair would do to her, but every day with him would be precious, and when he finally left her she would survive somehow and it would have to be better than having nothing of him ever.

  She turned to see that he, too, had got up. He was standing with his hands in his trouser pockets, his jacket discarded with his tie, the first time she had seen him incompletely dressed. His eyes were on the fire and he didn't look happy, his face oddly grim, his jaw clenched.

  'Was I wrong?' he asked quietly, and looked up. 'Do you want me? Or have I lost you?'

  Sophie shook her head.

  'You will stay with me—be mine?'

  The question hovered in the room between them.

  'I'll stay,' Sophie said quietly.

  'Oh, my darling girl,' he said huskily, and moved across to take her in his arms. She leaned against him, her body suddenly weary as he held her gently. She rested her head against his shoulder, just content to be near him, to feel the hard warmth of his body against her.

  Meanwhile he was talking—eagerly, his lips against her hair.

  'A church ceremony, of course, but only the immediate family. Perhaps not even that. Shall we go off and be married alone? Would you like that?' He looked down at her, his face transformed, his eyes sparkling.

  A further nightmare seemed to be closing in on her.

  'What do you mean?' she breathed, her voice hoarse.

  'We must be married—at once. We'll go to England for me to meet your family, be married and disappear…for a long honeymoon. Oh, God, I can't wait!'

  She dropped her eyes and disentangled herself from his hold.

  'I… I didn't realise you meant marriage,' she said unsteadily.

  The silence was ominous as Max stilled. Standing close to him, she could feel his body as if braced in shock at her words.

  'I don't understand,' he said tautly.

  'I had no idea you meant marriage,' she said huskily.

  'What did you imagine I wanted?' he asked tightly. 'An affair?' His voice was incredulous.

  Sophie nodded unhappily.

  'You must know I
don't think of you as my mistress.' His voice sounded almost dazed. 'I want you with me always.'

  'You never told me,' she whispered.

  'Is that why you refused me before—in the mountains?'

  'I never thought…'

  'You must have known,' Max accused her. 'Your experience must have told you. I could have taken you lightly at any time. We both wanted it. But I didn't because I want you as my wife, the mother of my children…'

  'No!' She shouted for him to stop. 'No,' she repeated more quietly.

  'So you thought I wanted a few weeks—months— in bed with you and then we'd go our different ways. Is that it?' he asked, a steely edge to his voice.

  She turned at the severity of his tone. He was standing quite straight, his hands clenched by his side, the firelight between them.

  'I don't know how you could have got that impression. Your knowledge of men must have told you I wanted more—much more than a temporary liaison.'

  'My experience of men is perhaps—more limited than you imagine,' she said, her voice low.

  'You're twenty-six. You can't be an innocent.'

  She didn't know how to answer him. 'That doesn't matter now,' she said evasively.

  'On the contrary. It matters very much.' In one swift stride Max was at her side, his hands on either side of her head, holding her face up as he scrutinised her features.

  'Look at me,' he commanded as she closed her eyes. 'Sophie!' he threatened.

  She opened her eyes and looked up at him, her face rigid with tension as she tried to meet his gaze.

  'It's not possible,' he muttered.

  'I don't think you can blame me,' she whispered evasively. 'You never mentioned—love or marriage.'

  'So now you know how I feel, have your feelings suddenly died because I want you for my wife?'

  'No, my feelings are the same, but I… I can't marry you.'

  He took his hands away.

  'What do you imagine we're going to do together?' He was angry now. His voice had lost its quiet deliberation and she could feel his struggle to control his anger.