by Vaso
His eyes narrowed when she walked into the hall where he was waiting for her.
'Quite stunning, Valentine,' he congratulated her sardonically. 'Especially that make-up—somehow maquil-lage seems a more appropriate word. No wonder my poor cousin lost his head as well as his heart! Most men would, knowing nothing of the truth that lies beneath the beauty, because not only are you very lovely; you also have great charm and the ability to entertain and amuse.'
That tragic mouth he had once seen when he had caught her in a defenceless moment was in evidence again for a second.
'Yes. It did once seem as if all those things were gifts with which I'd been blessed.' She paused and forced a brittle self-mocking smile. Tn the end, though, they turned out to be a curse.'
'For the men they attracted,' Kemp qualified harshly. 'Oh, Godi Do you really think I haven't suffered too?' she asked quietly. 'Only a stupid person could fail to do so, and I'm by no means stupid, Kemp.'
'True. You're too clever to be trusted,' he drawled. She looked at him with a strange dignity in her great sapphire eyes, even while part of her was reacting to the mere sight and physical presence of him, tall and devast-
atingly attractive in his evening clothes. Then she turned gracefully to precede him out of the house, knowing too well that this would be the pattern of the evening that lay ahead of them, with every word Kemp uttered calculated to wound. She had only her inherent belief in her own worth as a protection.
In fact, the evening turned into a nightmare. The restaurant at which Kemp had reserved a table was one of the most luxurious in Stellenbosch: the decor was tasteful but wildly expensive, the lighting subtle, the music romantic but unobtrusive, and there was a choice of delicious Cape-Dutch and French dishes, while the wine-list boasted only the most respected of estate wines. The clientele, too, fitted their surroundings: no students were to be found here. Some of the people at the tables or on the small dance-floor were middle-aged, while the younger ones had an affluent sleekness, that self-assured absence of tension that made them look as if they had stepped out of one of the Peter Stuyvesant films.
With her head held high, Valentine felt rather than saw the eyes that swivelled in their direction as they entered and a waiter greeted them in hushed tones and took them to their table. It was as it had been at the polo club, the attention they were attracting, yet different somehow, because -now she felt none of the pride she had felt then. She felt exposed: the men's looks were an invasion of her privacy, and Kemp, though he had a hand at her back, afforded her no protection. This was the way he wanted it, she knew. He wanted to humiliate her.
She looked at him across the beautifully appointed table with its fresh flowers and exquisite linen, the silver winking and the crystal sparkling in the light of the tall pink candles. His face was harder than she had ever seen it and her heart became like a stone in her breast. There was only one thing she could do, and that was to endure.
Kemp ordered champagne. 'Happy birthday, Valentine,' he toasted her ironically.
'I trust you're deriving some enjoyment from this farce,' she retorted frostily. 'I'm afraid I'm not.'
'We'll dance when we've eaten. You'll feel better then,' he drawled.
The torture went on, and on. Normally Valentine would have derived great pleasure from such an outing-and the elegant surroundings, but tonight she was oblivious of everything save the hard, unrelenting face of the man opposite her. She could expect no mercy from him. She barely knew what she ate as she sat there, doing her best to appear unconcerned when every remark he addressed to her was a contemptuous taunt.
'You won't break me this way, Kemp,' she warned him once, picking up her glass and sipping composedly.
'And yet I'll break you, Valentine,' he promised with such savage conviction that she felt sick.
His blue eyes burned bright and hard as they traversed her expressionless face before travelling over the pearly whiteness of her neck to where the low-cut gown revealed the soft swell of her breasts. His glance seemed to caress her, but with an insolence that was shocking.
Valentine felt as if he had actually touched her and her stomach churned, the muscles contracting painfully even as she forced herself to stare coolly back at him when his eyes claimed hers again.
When he led her on to the dance-floor the nightmare intensified. The way he held her, caught fast against the hard length of his body, was devoid of any consideration for her feelings or physical comfort. There was no tenderness or respect or even desire, only a wish to hurt and humiliate. A glance at the unseeing brilliance of his eyes and the cruel curl of his lips confirmed this for Valentine, and she felt something die within her.
Kemp hauled her still closer, every movement of his body an insult, his hands and arms careless of the pain they were inflicting. Slow, creeping shame began to wash through Valentine, eventually flooding her entire being. Dear God, even like this, even being solely used by him, she could feel that hollow ache which only he could fill.
She wanted to grind her hips against him, and lift her arms and cling—Ah, God help her, was Kemp aware of it?
'Valli . . .' The name.was a derisive taunt. He bent his head. His lips touched the side of her neck, searing the silken skin.
The sound of the music seemed to fade. All Valentine wj»s conscious of was the heavy thunderous beat of her heart. They were barely moving now, and Kemp's hands at her back, one at her waist and the other higher up where her skin was bard, were shaping and controlling her, making of her whatever he willed her to be. The warmth of his body against hers was all heaven and hell, and her breathing was betraying her.
'I'm Valentine,' she insisted raggedly.
'Valli,' he mocked again, and her shame exploded.
She tipped her head back, forcing him to see the sapphire flash of her eyes in her tense white face. Her scarlet lips parted.
'You have the right to be angry with me, Kemp,' she said clearly. 'You have the right to hate me. But you do not have the right to treat me as a whore!'
CHAPTER FIVE
THE fine lines about Kemp's eyes seemed to have deepened and his smile was cruelly ironic as he heard her words.
'And you, my sweet Valentine, have no right to beg for mercy—when you showed none to my cousin,' he added softly.
'I would never beg for anything from you,' she retorted, keeping her voice low because there were other couples dancing close to them. 'I'm merely asking—requesting— that you see me as I am, and treat me accordingly.'
'And what are you?' His voice menaced her.
'Many bad things, I have no doubt,' she conceded bitterly. 'But I'm not your whore.'
'Whose, then?' The words flicked at wounds both old and new like the curling end of a whip. 'Philip's? Was he your lover?'
'No.'
'God, what a fool he must have been!' Kemp's laughter was mirthless. 'You used him and gave nothing in return.'
Valentine's chin lifted. 'Why the hell should I have?'
'Why the hell shouldn't you?'
'Because———' She drew a sharp breath. 'Because you're looking at the last of the great idealists, Kemp. I was the poor fool; I really believed it all, the lovely myth . . . Some day my prince will come, or at the very least Mr Right. No, perhaps it wasn't that exactly. I just believed that one day I would recognise someone and until then . . . Well, I was waiting. But I was young, and I thought that meant making friends, having fun. All my contemporaries were playing the dating game, so I did too, all through my varsity years and after. I'd just got my first
job and a flat of my own in one of those old houses in Rondebosch when I met Philip———'
'I think we'll order more coffee and then leave,' Kemp interrupted abruptly, releasing her arm and propelling her towards their table.
'Didn't you stop to think what you were doing to Philip?' he asked over the coffee.
Valentine shook her head. She was so tense that her entire body ached and it was an effort to answer clearly, 'How could I?
' He was just someone I went out with.'
'You bitch!' he breathed, shaking his head. 'It really was as simple and undemanding as that, as far as you were concerned, wasn't it? That your effect on men was lethal just didn't concern you. Don't try to tell me you were unaware of your power as a very beautiful and engaging woman.'
'As it happens, I wasn't fully aware of it then,' she defended herself icily. 'That first boy, the one who volunteered for border duty . . . Well, as I got a bit older, I thought it was his youth that had made him over-sensitive. But it's true that at varsity I was always disappointed when boy-friends overreacted to a break-up ... It took Philip to open my eyes. You needn't worry, Kemp: I finally and painfully learnt my lesson. No one else will suffer from my curse. I now avoid nice sensitive men like the plague ... I remember you couldn't understand, at our first meeting, why I should prefer Adam and company to Henry van Wyk. Well, I didn't, but Henry would suffer over me; the others wouldn't.'
'The great tragedy queen,' Kemp derided.
'You speak more truly than you realise,' she countered, and an arrogant tilt came to her head. 'It's as if I carry the doom of nice young men with me wherever I go ... Except that Philip proved not at all nice in the end. He didn't tell me he was married and I was stupid enough to assume that if a wife wasn't mentioned, then a wife didn't exist. These days I always ask.'
'You're really doing your best to convince me that you're more sinned against than sinning, aren't you?' he mocked.
Her mouth curved bitterly. 'It's a terrible thing, to be beautiful. Can you understand that? But I refuse to become a nun or to tone it down even a degree. I can quote Popeye: I yam wot I yam! It's others who must learn to bear it.'
'I daresay Helen took the same attitude all those years ago,' Kemp drawled. 'At least you haven't caused a war yet, Valentine.'
His eyes were cold, refusing to understand her, failing to recognise the burden which she carried but which she would never allow to crush her. To compromise would be to betray herself. Her avoidance of the nice young men like Henry van Wyk was as far as she would g°-
'I'd like to leave,' she requested flatly.
The drive back to Fleurmont, through the velvety warmth of the February night, was accomplished in almost total silence.
On arrival, Valentine left the car the minute it stopped and went to the house, extracting her own key from the tiny black pochette she had carried. But once in the hall, she waited, listening to the sound of the garage being closed.
Then Kemp's voice was heard for a moment, pacifying the dogs, before he entered the hall and closed and locked the door behind 'him.
'Well?' he asked enquiringly as he looked at her still form and expressionless face.
A brittle smile came fleetingly. 'Am I supposed to thank you for this evening, Kemp?'
'Not if you didn't enjoy it,' he replied indifferently.
'You didn't intend that I should, did you?' she challenged bitterly.
'Perhaps it will console you to know that I didn't derive any enjoyment from it either.'·>
'I suppose I didn't suffer enough to satisfy your tastes,' f she lashed.
'You evidently credit me with very sadistic tastes,' he drawled thoughtfully. 'You do agree that you deserve to suffer, sweetheart?'
'No. I don't think I deserve to, but I fully expect to,' she told him wearily, turning away. 'But I'd be grateful if you could postpone your vengeance until another day, Kemp. This has been a long and eventful day; I don't remember any of my other birthdays being this full of
incident.'
'It's not over yet, either,' Kemp warned her quietly.
She walked down the passage to her bedroom, staring straight ahead of her, knowing he was following. At the door she put a hand out to switch on the bedroom light before finally facing him again.
'I'm not sleeping with you, if that's what you mean,' · she stated coldly.
'No?'
His eyes rested briefly on her set face, noting the fragile bone-structure. Then they moved on, examining her pale shoulders and the curve of her breasts. In her turn, Valentine stared back at him, wondering resignedly how she should handle this and, at the same time, realising that she hadn't seen him look this tired since the night they had met, and then he had spent most of the day travelling. There were grooves bracketing that pain-twisted mouth and the lines about his eyes were more like deep cuts tonight.
Their eyes met again, clashing, and she recognised the burning expression in his.
'Well, what's it to be, Kemp?' she taunted maliciously. 'Are you going to rape me in revenge; take for yourself what I denied to Philip?'
'You and I together could never equal rape, my beautiful bitch,' he denied with a faint, humourless smile. 'But as for taking what was denied to Philip—well, why the hell not?'
He had a reckless, restless look about him as he advanced and Valentine felt a stirring of panic, realising the dangerousness of his mood.
'For God's sake, Kemp,' she murmured helplessly, but already he was dragging her against him, his lips finding the tantalising redness of hers.
He held her fast, in a grip of steel, so that her struggles were unavailing.
'I don't know you any more,' she protested when eventually the assault on her mouth ended. 'You're like a stranger.'
'I could say ditto, Valentine,' he countered harshly. 'I had thought I was beginning to know and understand you, right up until lunchtime today.'
Then his mouth came down on hers again, with bruising pressure. Valentine twisted and turned in his grasp, but it was no use, and she was weak with exhaustion when finally he picked her up and carried her the short distance to the bed, laying her down and flinging himself on to her, his lips immediately seeking hers again, grinding against their softness, until she whimpered with pain and tasted blood.
'Not like this, Kemp,' she gasped, trying to push him away, but his weight kept her where she was. She had felt him harden with that very first kiss and knew that soon it would be too late to stop anything.
Already her clothes were being removed, torn from her body. Even her stockings were expertly stripped from her legs.
'Valli. . .' He used the name to increase her humiliation as he looked down at her. 'Beautiful Valli . . . my own angel-whore.'
'You'll make me hate you,' she warned.
Still he looked down at the slim white length of her body and the growing sensual awareness in his eyes brought a shamed heat to her cheeks. He saw it and smiled derisively.
'This is the first time I've seen you blush, Valli,'
I
he taunted softly. 'I didn't think you could.'
His head was lowered again, his face filling her vision, and Valentine's lips parted.
It was as it had been when they had danced earlier. Kemp's caresses were deliberately insulting; he was aware only of his own driving urgency, and Valentine's anguished protests and futile struggles were overcome with offensive ease. Her jewellery grazed her smooth skin. The covering of the bed was soft beneath her naked body and above her was the hard warmth of the man who was deliberately destroying her in revenge for what had happened to his cousin. She felt as if her heart was breaking, shattering into a million bleeding fragments, never to be whole again.
Gradually, though, his lovemaking, however violent, was having its inevitable effect, and an intense burning shame added itself to her pain. How could she still want him when he was doing this to her in mockery and in scorn?
Valentine Was gasping, no longer as a result of fighting him, but with the effort it cost her to conceal her mounting desire. His lips ravaged the swelling sensitivity of her breasts and she felt the blood thicken in her veins. The warmth of the summer night was turned to torrid heat and finally she could no longer resist the erotic longings he was arousing in her.
'Kemp!' It was a hoarse cry as, she arched invitingly against him, flinging her arms round his neck in wild abandon, her fingers burying themselves in his hair.
'You're b
eautiful,' he told her carelessly. 'Beautiful and passionate, and I want you.'
His stroking, caressing hands were seeking and finding the secret untouched regions of her body, their touch maddening her, and when he paused to remove his own clothes she moaned impatiently and gasped when she saw the masculine beauty of his lean body.
'I shall go insane,' she sobbed despairingly, her hips gyrating sensuously against him.
'And why not?' he derided. 'Poetic justice, Valentine .. . Valli! You drove Philip insane, didn't you?'
It was as if a cold wind had torn through the room, chilling her frenzied ardour. She tried to push him away from her now even as she felt him parting her legs, knowing that in another minute it would be too late.
'For pity's sake, Kemp, not this way,' she beseeched, struggling to escape him once more.
'What a girl you are for changing your mind!' Kemp said savagely.
'You can't do this!' Valentine insisted. 'You're . . . you're too civilised, Kemp. You can't really want it to happen this way ... in hatred.'
'Civilised!' He laughed, but he had drawn away from her a little.
'Please!' she went on, hating having to beg, ashamed of being in a position of weakness. 'What would it be, like this, save an animal coupling? I know you, I recognised you the first time I saw you . . . You don't really want it to happen like this! You can't!'
Abruptly Kemp rolled away from her and sat on the edge of die bed.
'What makes you think you know me so well, my dear?' he asked silkily.
'I just do.' She shifted her aching body and searched his face with eyes that were still glazed from the passion she had experienced. He looked back at her expectantly and she saw that his eyes were hard and hot and brilliant against the strange shadows that suddenly lay all over his face. Beads of perspiration moistened his skin and his mouth more than ever before gave the impression of being twisted by some private mental pain. 'There are other methods of revenge, Kemp,' she said quietly.
He stood up, not bothering to hide his body from her, and found the torn black dress. 'Cover yourself,' he said curtly, flinging it at her.