by Vaso
'Oh, you're a very clever and original woman,' he conceded indulgently, still smiling. 'You'll never be predictable, will you?'
Her long eyelashes fluttered. Just a little longer, she thought, and knew she was being self-indulgent. 'Although I'm not sure it was wise. I've just diis minute recalled the terrible effect of a Valentine on Boldwood in Hardy's Far From the Madding Crowdl'
'I remember how marvellously the late Peter Finch did that scene in the film, sitting there with the clock ticking away, just staring at it,' Kemp laughed.
'Brooding, slowly going out of his mind,' Valentine supplemented with wicked relish.
'No, sweetheart, you'll never drive me out of my mind,' he said warningly.
'I wouldn't want to,' she retorted with a faint shudder, remembering Philip and feeling her pleasure diminishing. Perhaps she would be the one to go out of her mind.
Kemp gave her another smile. 'Would today by any chance be a special occasion for you?'
'Twenty-two today,' she said with a slight lilt.
'Happy birthday, then,' he congratulated her, getting up and coming round the table to her. 'I've nothing to give you, but——'
'Yes, you have,' she interrupted provocatively. Just this one last time she would not deny herself. After today came the unloved, untouched loneliness cruel fate had chosen for her.
'Yes, I have,' he agreed, pulling her up out of her chair and turning her into his arms.
A soft sigh of surrender came from her as she felt his lips touch hers, his tongue flickering over their sensitivity while his hands caressed the exposed skin of her shoulders. Neither of them heard the entry and subsequent hasty departure of Salome Jansen who grinned to herself.
Valentine, could scarcely credit the mingled tenderness and sensuality of Kemp's kiss as he invaded her mouth more fully. Their lips were entwined in wondrous communication, signalling their desire, and his hands moved gently all over her body, touching her back and breasts and midriff, hips and thighs, burning through the soft material of her dress, echoing the message of his mouth, and she felt the unmistakable swelling that told her how much he wanted her.
'Kemp!' She felt as if she was melting and there was a trembling weakness somewhere deep inside her.
'I can hardly believe in you,' he murmured, lifting his head to look into the passion-darkened sapphire eyes. "You're incredible!'
'So are you,' she replied in a shaken voice.
'And mine—all mine?' he probed.
'All yours,' she confirmed, delivering her life to him with a smile that cost her more dearly than anything that had gone before.
Kemp held her away from him. Til take you to dinner somewhere in Stellenbosch tonight, some place where we can dance. All right?'
'Yes.'
She couldn't mar the perfection of this moment, but she guessed that the outing would never taken place because by tonight he would know the truth about her. She knew he intended that the evening should culminate in the consummation of the attraction between them, but she must and would find the courage to tell him about Philip.
She turned away rather quickly as he released her, for once unable to trust her usually invincible composure, so poignant was the regret she felt *br what she would be passing up.
'Your lipstick has disappeared,' Kemp laughed as he sat down again, but by then the mask was firmly back in place and Valentine was able to smile at him with eyes that brimmed with pure delight. God forgive her, but she couldn't say the words to lose him in this precious hour.
That morning was for treasuring the memory of their exchange in the breakfast room, reliving each moment of it with an absorption which made her over-generous with the wine she poured out for those visitors who had come to taste Fleurmont's product. It was also a time of sadness, but there was no doubt in Valentine's mind that when she saw Kemp at lunch she would make her confession.
She had won a moment of tenderness from him, and laughter. They must suffice. She now felt herself steeled to her duty by a strength of will she had not possessed before.
A pair of Frenchmen arriving late delayed her slightly, for she always felt she ought to take extra trouble and time with visitors from other wine-producing countries, and France was after all the most famous of them all.
She was smiling when she went to lunch because they had been appreciative, not at all condescending, genuine wine-lovers and far less affected than some of the pompous would-be connoisseurs with whom she had dealings.
Freddie Jansen had just got back from collecting the Fleurmont mail when Valentine joined Kemp at the table
in the garden, and he gave them both an interested look before departing.
Kemp raised his eyebrows in amused enquiry and Valentine shrugged.
'Well, we know all about grapevines in this part of the world,' she laughed.
'We do indeed. Yours.' Kemp had finished sorting through the mail and handed her four white envelopes. "Birthday cards or Valentines?'
'Well, this is from home—my parents,' she said, examining the postmarks and handwriting. 'And this, from Newcastle in Natal, will be from my brother Nigel. He's a chemical engineer.'
She sat down and poured herself a glass of Clairette Blanche. She opened Nigel's card first because she loved her brother very much, then dealt with the others while Kemp was opening a large envelope with the address typed on to it. The two unsigned Valentines, since they were posted in Stellenbosch, she attributed to Adam and Gary.
'Valli
She looked up at that, every vestige of colour draining from her face, and met the bitter contempt in Kemp's blue eyes.
'Valli McLaren,' he repeated softly, dangerously.
'I was going to tell you,' she gulped. 'But how . . .?'
The corners of his mouth turned down in a grimace of the utmost distaste as he handed her several old newspaper cuttings, some of them with photographs.
'Oh, God,' she said hollowly. Then seeing the terrible anger in his face she sought to defend herself with the flippancy that had so frequently proved one of her most effective weapons. 'Is there going to be another Valentine's Day Massacre, Kemp?'
'Why didn't you tell me?' he rapped, taking the cuttings back.
'I was going to.' She was trembling violently, unable to find any sort of control.
'Oh, I believe you,' he retorted sarcastically. 'When? After you'd seen how much damage you could inflict?'
'Today! Now ... at lunch!' she said desperately.
'Don't lie to me, Valentine . . . Valli! Was that what Philip called you? God, if only Edward had used your name when he wrote to me about what had happened— but he called you by a title I've no doubt you deserve. If you'd meant to tell me, you'd have done so before now— at our very first meeting.'
Valentine stared at the bunch of cuttings he still held in his hand, those terrible pieces penned for the entertainment of the readers of scandal sheets, with information supplied to the writers by so-called friends. The destruction of her privacy, the distortions to her life and personality had inflicted a wound that would never fully heal. She had felt raw and naked for months afterwards, flinching at recognition, hurt deep into her soul by the knowledge that there were people who would believe the things that had been said and written about her, because everything there was based on truth, although grotesquely manipulated to give a different impression.
She flung her head up in a sudden gesture of pride. 'I only made the connection after coming home from that party—when I saw Philip's photo in the main bedroom,' she said with quiet intensity. 'Believe me, Kemp.'
But it was as if he were looking at a stranger, his eyes blank, devoid of recognition. He glanced down at the pieces of newspaper in his hand and read some of the captions, ineffably disgusted by the cliches.
'Lady Havoc—The Queen of Hearts—De Villiers Not Valli's First Disaster .. . what does that mean?'
'Oh, you might as well know the worst of me,' she flung at him bitterly, her mouth in tragic downturned contrast to its
usual smiling shape. 'I attract disaster like a magnet, Kemp. I've got the opposite of the Midas touch in emotional matters . . . Everyone who comes into contact with me suffers for it. I'm dangerous, do you understand? When I was seventeeen I went out with a boy who was doing his
military service . . . He wanted a more serious relationship, but I wasn't in love with him. He was . . . oh, hell! Do I have to repeat all this? He was desperately unhappy and he volunteered for border duty . . . He was killed in a landmine explosion. Some of my . . . good, loyal friends remembered that and told those . . . those hacks! They also remembered other men . . . Philip was the final victim of my curse. Now you know.'
'Yes! Philip . . . my cousin!' Kemp looked at another report with a fairly large and clear photograph accompanying it.
Valentine shuddered. That was one of the most painful memories. 'You drove him to death, you killed him . . . murdered him!' Reinette de Villiers had screamed that day after the inquest was over, and the black and white photograph showed her with her mouth a gaping wound as she gave vent to her anguished hatred while her husband attempted to hustle her away and Valentine, a straight, erect and isolated figure, seemed to wear an expression of cold hauteur which had, in fact, been a shield against the lacerating humiliation and shame of that moment, proudly refusing to hide her face from the camera men.
She saw Kemp's fist clench, the knuckles whitening as he crushed the various pieces of yellowing paper into a ball, and, raising her eyes, she saw that the tanned skin was stretched tautly over the bones of his face.
'You bitch,' he condemned her quietly.
'What would you have me do?' she asked with coldly bitter pride. 'Take a razor to my looks, be less than myself, to prevent men I can't love falling in love with me and then being unable to handle their rejection?'
Her head was high and her sapphire eyes flashed with resentment.
'Your relationship with Philip had been going on for some time,' Kemp reminded her harshly. 'If you knew you could never feel anything for him, why the hell did you go on seeing him? And didn't the existence of a wife concern you?'
'I didn't know he was married,' Valentine flared. Then, gaining a measure of control, she went on haughtily, 'But I don't have to defend myself to you or anyone else. I know the truth and that's all that counts. The rest of you can believe what you like.'
'It was that same self-centredness that made you continue seeing Philip, wasn't it?' he accused her. 'You didn't think of him, you didn't care about anyone's feelings save your own.'
She drew a steadying breath and explained icily, 'I went on seeing Philip because I was stupid enough to judge other men by my brother. I now realise that was a terrible insult to Nigel . . . He's rational and well-balanced. He doesn't expect eve.ry girl he goes out with to feel love or lust; he's been content with simply getting on well with them, enjoying the company of girls who share his interests ... Philip and I had many mutual tastes. I was very, very foolish, I know, but lest your opinion of me isn't low enough already, Kemp, let me add that I never shed one single tear over your cousin. His final act was one of childish and spiteful cowardice. I resent him— I hate and despise him for what he did to me.'
'How typically selfish! All you can think of is what was done to you.' Kemp's expression was unyielding. Tm not interested in hearing any more of your explanations and excuses. Get out of my sight, Valentine . . . I've seen enough violence in the world to loathe it in every form but, my God, I can understand violence today.'
Valentine stood up swiftly. 'First, though——' She stretched an arm over the table and snatched the crumpled cuttings from him. 'Who would do this? Who made it their responsibility to inform you of the truth in this sordid manner?'
'I wondered if you knew?'
'It would be nobody I know. I severed all my relationships after . . . after Philip's death. Too many of my
so-called friends had proved too eager to jump into the act of making sure all Cape Town knew just how. callous the notorious Valli McLaren could be. None of them knows where I am or ... that you're my employer.' Her mouth drooped bitterly as she smoothed the pieces of paper. She turned one over and her eyes hardened. 'My God, look at this! They've been glued into a scrapbook at some stage. What sort of mind do you need to make such a collection?'
'Sordid, I'll agree, but all you deserve, Valentine,' Kemp said bitingly.
She picked up the .envelope in which the cuttings had arrived. The date was smudged, but—'Cape Town.' Her eyes narrowed as she thought for a moment, then she met his gaze levelly. 'Yet I could swear this was done by someone from around here, Kemp.'
'Possibly.' He shrugged. 'But you'll make no accusations. You've no right to justice, Valentine. Now go ... and take those with you. I don't want to see them.'
'Am I fired?' She was defiant.
'Yes!' Kemp said explosively. 'Go, Valentine.'
'My contract states a month's notice from either side,' she taunted, and went, intent only on finding a box of matches so that she could burn these pieces of paper. Even her hand felt defiled, just holding them.
She passed Freddie Jansen without seeing him, her head held high and her red mouth'tight. He looked after her concernedly before going in search of his wife.
'You see, our soil is red and deep,' Valentine explained to the man who had said he was a maize farmer from the Transvaal. She heard someone enter the room, but she kept her eyes fastened on the man's open, friendly face, her smile unwavering. 'But additionally, we get a sea-breeze over the estate in the afternoons—you wouldn't think we'd benefit at this distance, would you?—and that breeze is the reason for the excellence of our red wines.' 'Thank you for explaining, Miss,' he said cheerfully.
'Wine-production always seemed to me to have a certain mystique, but it's not so different to any other sort of farming, is it?'
'Soil and climate are the great dictators here as well,' Valentine said. 'Now, have you decided what you'd like in your triple pack?'
She dealt with the sale pleasantly, ignoring the presence of Kemp, for it was he who had entered, accompanied by the dogs.
Not by a look or a gesture did she betray that inwardly she was almost in a state of collapse. The afternoon had been hellish; every moment had been emotional torture and dealing as charmingly as ever with the public had required every last vestige of her considerable acting ability.
But now the last visitor of the day was taking his leave, thanking her profusely. It was too late to expect any more, Maude had already removed the glasses the man had used for tasting and, but for Kemp's unexpected presence, Valentine would have collapsed, wearily into her chair.
Instead, she turned to face him with a cool little smile. 'I expect you're wondering what I'm doing, still here. I did remind you of the clause stating one month's notice was required, I believe?'
The remoteness of his expression chilled her. 'That's what I came to tell you—I've changed my mind about Aat, Valentine. I'm keeping you here.'
Valentine was immobile. 'Why?'
'Have you forgotten my once telling you what I'd like to do to the woman who destroyed Philip?' he enquired · silkily. 'I said I'd take her and break her, Valentine . . . I'll see you at my feet before I let you go, sweetheart. You told me earlier, and with what pride, that you had never wept for my cousin. I'll make you weep to rival the Cape winter rains.'
'In that case, I'm the one giving notice,' she said tartly.
'You'll stay,' Kemp stated inexorably.
'Vengeance doesn't become you, Kemp.'
'Nevertheless . . .' He shrugged dismissively and she shuddered inwardly at the menace of his tone.
'And to think I once said you were civilised!' she lashed.
'Only civilised women merit civilised treatment .... VafhT He uttered the terrible, name with such appalling hatred that she took an involuntary step backwards without realising it.
She wondered how much more she could endure. Pain was exploding within her, agonising, sparking pain, and the hat
red she felt against fate was so intense that it frightened her. Was she never to know peace in her life? Chet was close beside her, his Great Dane's-face quizzical, and she dropped a hand to his head. She felt faint, the result of a surfeit of emotion, plus the fact that she had gone without lunch.
Then she lifted her head in a curious gesture of acceptance, as if signalling her readiness to endure whatever Kemp might choose to do to her, and in that moment she became strong again.
'May I go?' she asked quietly.
He inclined his head slightly. 'Don't forget we have a dinner date. Be ready to leave at seven.'
'I would have thought that was off,' she ventured as she walked to the door.
'Why?' He spoke harshly. 'You're a woman any man would be proud to be seen with—-just as long as no one guessed what lay beneath that breathtaking beauty. Wear one of your most dazzling confections, Valli, something ravishing enough to make every man in the place desire you.'
She paused, looking back over her shoulder. 'You can't humiliate me that way, Kemp.'
'No?' The direat was blatant, and she felt as if he had become a stranger. 'By the time I've finished with you, there won't be a shred of that glorious pride left; I want you humble to die point of humiliation.'
'This is unworthy.of you,' she said icily, and walked out.
Later she took perverse pleasure in obeying Kemp's injunction regarding her appearance. The black georgette dress was simpler than most that she owned, yet infinitely more seductive for it was cut very low, with shoe-string straps supporting it at the shoulders, and it was fitted to reveal-every curve and contour from the waist up, while the skirt hung in fine soft folds to her knees. With it she wore seamed black silk stockings, one of her most luxurious extravagances, and flimsy high-heeled black sandals. It was somehow a decadent outfit, she thought, smiling acidly to herself in the mirror, and her silver jewellery suited it, as did the exotic make-up which she applied lavishly, feeling the need of a mask. Even Kemp, hating her as he now did, was going to catch his breath . . .