Winter Sunlight

by Susan Alexander

  Compulsively they strained towards each other, their mouths clinging hungrily, their hands reaching to explore, starved for the feel and touch of each other.

  At last Max lifted his head.

  'Tell me you came for this, Sophie,' he demanded roughly. 'Say it!'

  She looked up at him bemused, her eyes dazed. His face was hot and running with colour, his eyes feverish. She lifted her lips to his.

  'Yes,' she breathed into his mouth.

  He pulled her back into his arms and buried his face in the warmth of her neck.

  'Not here,' he whispered shakily. 'Will you come with me—trust me?'

  She nodded and he lifted her, striding out into the brightly lit corridor. In the lift he let her down and kissed her again, their bodies moulded together as the lift carried them up. Then she was once more in his arms, held easily as he stepped into a dark room and carried her over to a wide bed. She watched him pull back the curtains, letting in the starlit night before he locked the door and came back to the bed, sitting on the edge.

  'I want very much to see you without that beautiful dress,' he said softly, 'but first I have to be sure you really want this.' He put out a hand and caressed her cheek with his knuckles. 'Are you sure, Sophie? It's not too late to draw back.'

  'I'm sure,' she answered him gravely, her eyes steady on his face. She wanted this passionately, had wanted it all those long, lonely nights in London. Whatever happened, she wouldn't regret being here with him.

  Very gently he began to undress her, removing each garment with expertise, his fingers barely brushing her skin, the light touch sending spirals of delight along her nerve ends. When the last of the satin and lace was flung aside, Sophie felt the heat flush her body with sudden shyness as he gazed down at her. Slowly his eyes moved over her, the full, firmly rounded breasts, the slender waist and curved hips, the long legs. And for endless moments he was quite still, his breathing harsh, his eyes gleaming in the dim light, a pulse beating heavily in his throat.

  She could see his fingers tremble as he began on his own clothes, tossing away each item until he:- breath caught hard in her throat at the sight of his magnificent body. Deeply tanned, he looked dark above her, his muscled strength a devastating contrast to her soft weakness. And a shiver of fear touched her. He was a giant of a man, and his power and size seemed suddenly menacing. When he sank down on the bed and she felt the hard warmth of him, she lay stiff and tense at his side.

  Then he began to stroke her, touching, lingering and caressing, until excitement rose in her like a tidal wave, taking her unawares and electrifying her senses. She tried to lie still under his hands, but her body twisted and arched at his touch, her mind unable to control the tide of her response, her voice crying out to him impatiently.

  'Hush, not so fast, my lovely one,' he whispered huskily. Distantly she heard his voice, and then his mouth came down on hers in a kiss that sent her reeling out of control. Nothing she had ever imagined prepared her for the passion that erupted between them as their bodies entwined and their mouths clung. The last of her fear faded away and her mind drifted on a cloud of feeling, the only reality the hard desire of his body and her own longing for him.

  Suddenly his fingers bit sharply into her back. She cried out as he lifted his head to look down into her face.

  'Now will you marry me?' he demanded hotly.

  Silently Sophie stared at him. Her feelings were at fever pitch and her mind dazed. Max gripped her shoulders and began to shake her.

  'Say it,' he demanded jerkily. 'I will marry, you Max. Just five words.'

  'But Max… I—oh, God, not now!'

  'Now,' he said implacably.

  'But why?' she asked on a sob. 'What are you trying to do?'

  'Just say it.'

  'You know I can't.' Her voice was a whisper.

  'Do you dare deny it—here in my arms? Do you? Have you the gall to tell me you don't want me and love me?'

  She twisted her face away and tried to free herself from his hold, but he tightened his grip.

  'But—you know. We've been through all this.' She was crying softly.

  'Not like this we haven't. Together in bed.'

  She lay quite still, her eyes closed, unable to think.

  'Sophie,' he threatened. When she didn't speak, he touched his lips to her ear. 'Shall I tell you what I'll do if you refuse? I'll get up and leave you here, aching for me. And you'll never know what delirium of pleasure we could have had together.'

  She bit hard on her lip. Did he mean it? Could he stop now when his desire for her was as strong as her own? So should she tell him now about herself as Lottie had suggested? No. She couldn't do it. Not here and now. And yet hadn't she come precisely for this? When she accepted his grandmother's invitation, hadn't she decided then that he should know the truth?

  Max rolled away from her.

  'I see,' he said grimly, and got out of bed, picking up a robe and shrugging himself into it. 'So the answer is still no.' He walked across the room to stand by the window, his back to her. 'Then this time I demand to know the reason why you won't marry me. That much you owe me.' His voice was hard, his tone implacable.

  Sophie lay quite still, her head turned away from him, hesitating. Could she tell him? Did she have the courage?

  'Well?' he demanded. 'I'll wait here all night if need be. The door is locked and I have the key.'

  At that her head rose sharply.

  'There's no need to threaten me,' she snapped angrily. 'Threats won't make me tell you just as blackmail won't persuade me to marry you. When I do things they're done of my own free will, not because I'm being bullied.'

  'Bravo!' He smiled at her with that special light in his eyes and she felt her resolution waver. 'So, tell me.'

  Draping a sheet round herself, Sophie got up. Max uttered an impatient exclamation and walked past her, coming back a moment later with a second robe. She belted the dark blue towelling round her waist, the faint scent of him rising pleasurably to her nostrils. Standing before him she raised her eyes to his face.

  'My mother died shortly after my birth,' she began tonelessly. 'I don't know who my father was and I'm probably illegitimate. I was adopted as a baby and my name is that of the couple who adopted me.'

  She was surprised to see anger in his eyes.

  'Are you telling me this is why you've put us both through the unhappiness of the past weeks?' he demanded angrily. 'Did you imagine I'd turn away from you because you're adopted? It's you I want to marry, not your ancestors. And this does happen to be the twentieth century—in case it's slipped your mind. We're no longer in the Dark Ages!'

  'There's more,' she said woodenly. 'I can't have children.'

  'Max couldn't hide his reaction. She saw the shock in his eyes. He reeled with it. And then he turned away. She watched him swallow and saw his jaw clench.

  The silence seemed endless, and she turned to stare blindly out at the beauty of the starlit night.

  'Have you been to doctors, had the usual tests?' he demanded harshly.

  She wished he would stop asking questions. She was finding it hard to keep cool, to answer him with any composure. Too much had happened too quickly and she felt giddy and weak.

  'It's not that I'm physically incapable of having… children.' She blushed faintly. 'There's a disease in my family that makes it impossible.'

  'What disease?'

  'Please, Max, I don't want to go on with this,' she begged him.

  'I don't care a damn what you want. I intend to hear it all.'

  'Can't you just accept what I've told you?' she pleaded.

  'No, I can't. This is not some interesting debate. It's about us—you and me.' He paused, his face grim. 'What disease?' he repeated.

  'It's not fatal,' she prevaricated.

  'And you have it?'

  'No.'

  'For God's sake, Sophie, what is this? You can't have children and then it turns out you can; there's a disease that might stop you, but you don
't have it. Are you trying to drive me mad?' He breathed deeply. 'Just start again and explain it properly.

  'Please, Max, can't we leave it at that?' she appealed to him, her voice faltering.

  'No.' He brought his fist crashing down on the table in front of him and she jumped with shock. She had never seen him violent. 'Will you stop dithering and tell me—now! And I warn you, I'm fast losing control.'

  She rammed her hands into the pockets of the robe, her neck muscles rigid with tension, her face drained of colour.

  'It seems my father had an illness which can be inherited,' she said painfully. 'If I had children I could pass it on to them.'

  'What illness?' he demanded again, and she could see his store of patience was rapidly coming to an end.

  'I don't know,' she confessed miserably.

  'You don't know?' he echoed. 'For God's sake, Sophie, make some sense! How could you find out about this mysterious illness when you don't know who your father was, not even his name?'

  She took a deep breath and tried to steady her voice.

  'When my parents told me I'd been adopted, I went back to the convent to see if I could trace my… natural family. The nuns were very kind and told me what they knew. It seems my mother arrived at the convent already in labour. There wasn't time to get her to a hospital, and I was born within hours.' She clenched her hands, her nails digging into her palms. 'By the time the doctor arrived it was too late to save her. Before she… died,' Sophie went on in a whisper, 'she told them she wanted me to be called Sophie and I had to be told I couldn't have children. The nun asked her why, and she explained about my father's illness.'

  'Without naming it?'

  She nodded.

  'It seems an odd thing for a dying woman to say,' he said slowly. 'Could the nun have been mistaken?'

  'She seemed quite certain,' Sophie said dully.

  He swung round to face her.

  'If I told you all this doesn't matter, would you believe me?'

  'It would make no difference what I believe. I don't intend to marry… ever.'

  He began to roam round the room, and her eyes followed him wistfully. She had managed to tell him, and now he knew it all. Watching him stride about, she realised this was finally the end. They would not meet again. In the morning she would go and he would be relieved.

  Pain twisted inside her. Had she nursed a forlorn hope that he would brush it aside, tell her he loved her and they would be married in spite of her revelations? Wishful thinking, she thought miserably, just more day-dreaming. It was better this way, she told herself bleakly. A clean cut without regrets. Nothing left unsaid that might nurture hope when there was none.

  Max's face was shuttered and told her nothing, no smile or spark of life in his eyes as he stopped pacing and looked across at her. It had been a blow to him, too. He didn't speak and for that she was grateful. She wished he would go before she broke down completely and begged him to…

  Abruptly he turned away. At the door he stopped for a moment as though to say something. Then he changed his mind. With a brief nod he opened the door and closed it quietly behind him.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Sophie sat huddled over the fire, the dog at her feet. The clock struck, and she looked up to see it was almost exactly twenty-four hours since she had left Max's bedroom. And here she was, all thought of leaving the castle long gone.

  It had been a bad night. She had not slept, dozing fitfully before dawn and waking with her decision made. She would make her apologies to her hostess and leave, explaining quite truthfully that she saw no point in staying. She had rung the airport to confirm her return reservation and then made her way downstairs to get help with her suitcase and find some breakfast.

  On her way down she had been vaguely aware of a certain disarray. Cleaning materials littered the stairs apparently abandoned, and she could hear voices from somewhere raised in nervous argument. When she reached the hall the Rottweiler was whining. Uncertain what to do, Sophie sat down next to the dog, touching him softly and murmuring to him in German. He responded to her fingers and lay down at her feet, his head between his paws. Absently she noticed that the fireplace had not been cleared of yesterday's ashes.

  Suddenly Frau Glaser appeared along the corridor.

  'Ach, mein Gott,' she said when she saw Sophie. 'I am so sorry. Your breakfast, it has not been brought up.' She'd been crying. Her eyes were red and she clutched a large handkerchief in one hand. 'We are all up and down,' she said, trying to make herself understood in English, forgetting that Sophie could speak German.

  'Can I help?' Sophie asked. 'Is something wrong?'

  Frau Glaser proceeded to wring her hands. 'It is the Herrin—the mistress!' she wailed loudly.

  'Please, Frau Glaser,' Sophie said quietly, taking the older woman's hand, 'can we go and sit down—in the hall perhaps—and you tell me about it.'

  'In the hall?' She looked shocked. 'Certainly not! I cannot sit in the hall. Twenty-four years I have been here and never I sit in the hall. It is not…' She tailed off, her thoughts returning to whatever was troubling her.

  'Something is wrong with the Frau Baron?' Sophie insisted gently.

  Frau Glaser nodded, holding back her tears by pressing the handkerchief to her eyes.

  'Please,' Sophie went on, taking her arm and leading her back to the hall. 'Let's sit down here, just for a moment.' Sitting primly on an upright chair, the other woman stared at nothing, almost unaware of Sophie's presence.

  'It is always the same,' she said at last. 'She will not have the doctor.' Hopefully Sophie waited. 'It is the cough. It comes back in the night… like last time. She has pain and fever, but she will not have the doctor. Before, the master was here and he brings the doctor. No nonsense. But he is away. Gone. And the Frau Baron says no doctor.' She was repeating herself, almost rambling, but Sophie waited, asking no questions. 'And Martha is stupid,' she went on, her voice suddenly angry. 'The Frau Baron says no, so it is no. I may not phone the doctor.'

  'Are you saying Frau von Hartog is sick and will not have the doctor called?' Sophie asked quietly.

  Frau Glaser turned wet eyes to look at her. 'Yes, yes, that is what I try to tell you. And we cannot find the Herr Baron. He has gone, Franz says. But where? The office do not know. And this morning he was not here, so he must have gone in the night.'

  'Who is Franz?' Sophie asked gently.

  'Franz?' Frau Glaser looked astonished. 'He is the secretary to the Herr Baron, of course. And he does only what he is ordered. He is just a boy,' she added dismissively.

  'I think I'll just go upstairs for a moment,' Sophie said and got up.

  'Oh, no.' The older woman reached out a hand to stop her. 'Martha, she will not let you see her. She is mad, that one. Jealous, possessive of her mistress.'

  'We'll see,' Sophie said, and headed for the lift.

  Upstairs, Martha was surprised to see her. She came out into the corridor closing the door behind her and glared at Sophie.

  'The Frau Baron is ill. She cannot see you,' she said brusquely.

  'I'm sorry to hear that, Martha. You must have had a disturbed night,' Sophie added diplomatically.

  'I have no sleep, and that doesn't matter.'

  'I wonder if I could see her just for a moment? I am a nurse,' Sophie added for good measure. It wasn't true, but she had undergone some nursing training and had considerable experience of illness. Martha looked as though she would explode with anger, but Sophie didn't change her tone or the mild expression of her face. 'I understand the Herr Baron is away and cannot be reached. I know you wouldn't like anything to happen to your mistress because the doctor wasn't called.'

  Sophie watched her words sink in.

  'My mistress has no wish for the doctor, so I do not permit him to come,' stated Martha firmly.

  'Why doesn't she want him?'

  'Because he will take her to the hospital—to die.'

  'But why should she die, Martha? Is she very ill?'


  Suddenly Martha had no answer. Her face went red with embarrassment.

  'If it is only something small—a cold perhaps,' Sophie hazarded, 'maybe we can help her—between the two of us.'

  'You will not call the doctor?' asked Martha anxiously.

  'That I can't promise,' Sophie said gently. 'But whatever I do, I'm sure we can decide together.'

  There was a heavy silence. Then Martha turned and opened the door. The room was suffocatingly hot. The curtains were drawn, the air stale and oppressive. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, Sophie could make out two huge tapestry screens set at right angles round an enormous bed. Walking forward cautiously, she could see the tiny figure almost buried beneath blankets and velvet coverings.

  Then she heard the cough—and froze. Deep and agonising—she recognised it instantly. Turning to Martha, she spoke quietly.

  'Please open the curtains.' She saw the other woman tense. 'If you value your mistress's life you'll do as I say—at once,' she said coldly.

  As if hypnotised by Sophie's voice, Martha moved to the windows. As the light fell into the room the patient moved.

  'No, Martha, turn out the light,' she demanded querulously.

  'Now turn off all the heating,' Sophie commanded.

  'No.' Martha spoke firmly. 'I will not,' she added.

  'Very well.' Sophie faced her. 'If you don't do everything I say and at once, I'll send for Frau Glaser and have you removed from this room. This is serious and we have to act at once. I will also be calling the doctor.'

  Martha's face set mutinously, ready to refuse. Sophie didn't speak. She waited. There wasn't time for argument. Looking up into Sophie's face, Martha made her decision. Without a word she turned and headed for the gas fire.

  'Right,' said Sophie, 'now please help me.'

  And they went to work. Twenty minutes later, the old lady was propped high with cushions, her bedlinen changed, the room aired and a fire lit in the hearth giving a pleasant warmth and a comfortable glow. She had managed to drink a little of the barley water Sophie had poured for her and the heavy bedcoverings had been replaced by light blankets and two weightless duvets. She still looked drawn and in considerable pain, but the grey look was fading, and for the moment she had stopped coughing.