Fever

by Charlotte Lamb

  'I could drive you to your flat to pick one up,' he suggested.

  She only had her black, crepe trouser suit or her silver dress and suddenly she felt like buying some­thing new. She rarely went to parties and her ward­robe was rather limited. Although she was earning more each year, she wasn't yet fully established and her fees were hardly astronomic. She tended to buy clothes she could wear for a long time, functional clothes, hard-wearing clothes. She looked at Jeremy and felt suddenly reckless.

  I'll buy a new one,' she said.

  He caught her mood, grinning. 'That's the idea! Bonnet over the windmill?'

  She lowered her lashes demurely. 'I don't know, what you mean.'

  He drove her to London, stopping off on the way so that she could hurriedly dive into a small but expensive little boutique in a back street of Col­chester. It was five o'clock when they reached the town and Colchester was winding down to close for the night. The streets were full of people making their way home, cars Dumper to bumper in the traffic jam which filled the centre of the city. Sara tried on several dresses, but it was Jeremy who insisted on the one which she finally bought; a very simple peacock blue shift in a silky material which glittered as she turned from side to side to survey it in the mirror. The simplicity of the cut more than offset the brilliance of the colour and her hair flamed above it dramatically.

  When they came out of the shop, the homeward rush had become frenetic. They stopped to have tea in a teashop in the main street and then walked slowly along to admire the outside of the little theatre nearby, the white facade giving elegance to the new shopping areas more recently built beside it.

  'Colchester has changed beyond recognition,' Jeremy told her. 'When I was a boy I used to come here often. Dad used to like buying books at the old bookshop down the hill here, and I used to leave him there and wander off to look at the Roman wall or the old houses. I think it's lost a lot of its charm in the last five years. All this redevelopment may be good for business, but it certainly knocks hell out of the look of the place.'

  'I don't really know it,' Sara admitted.

  'A lot of new houses have been built near the city. Essex is expanding fast. Natural enough, I suppose, as it's so near London.'

  'Are you a conservationist?' she asked drily, smil­ing.

  'I just hate to see things change,' Jeremy admitted with a self-deriding smile.

  'Don't we all? It's inbuilt with us.'

  'The human condition?' Jeremy asked, his eyes on his face.

  She looked up. 'Yes.'

  'You've used that phrase to me several times, but I'm not sure what you mean by it.'

  'It covers a multitude of sins,' she shrugged. 'People are weird.'

  'There's nowt so queer as folk?' he suggested, lips twitching,

  'Absolutely nowt,' she agreed, laughing.

  'I prefer that phrase,' he told her. 'I'm very down to earth.'

  'So I'd noticed,' Sara said silkily.

  In the car as they drove into London along the fast motorway, she asked: 'Tell me more about Annabel, What does she do all day if she doesn't have a job?'

  'She has one of sorts, but not what you would call a job,' he said with a wry face. 'She helps out at a Bond Street shop for a few hours a day. When she's in the mood. There's nothing so limiting as actual working hours for Annabel. If she gets up in time, she drops in there and condescends to sell a few items, if pressed by customers.'

  'Don't tell me; it's owned by a friend?'

  'Admirer,' Jeremy said with no smile at all. 'I can't stand the man, but he fancies Annabel and she doesn't discourage him. If her millionaire doesn't turn up trumps she may even marry him, God help her.'

  She considered his face. 'You really don't like him, do you?'

  'Detest him,' Jeremy muttered. 'He's far too old for her, but she wouldn't listen if I said a word. Annabel is stubborn. She's been following this crazy dream of hers for two years and it's got her no­where.'

  'She wants to be rich?'

  'That and other things,' Jeremy muttered again. He drew back his shoulders and gave her a smile. 'Can we talk about something more pleasant? How's the picture corning?'

  'Nearly finished. And I'm quite pleased with it.'

  'Dad seen it yet?'

  'Oh, no,' she said, horrified. 'Not until I've fin­ished it. Not on your life! It would put me off.'

  They had dinner in London, taking their time, and arrived at Annabel's flat soon after nine. She lived in a district of Kensington Sara had only visited once or twice—high, gabled Victorian houses clus­tered together, their enormous floor space long since given over to flats and bedsitters. Annabel lived on

  the ground floor of one. Cars were parked like sar­dines around it and the sound of throbbing music met them as they arrived at the front door.

  A young man opened it at Jeremy's insistent ring. Jeremy gave him a nod. 'Hallo, David.' He dragged Sara past him and forced a way past the chattering groups of people to meet his sister.

  She turned from the people she was talking to, giving a groan. 'Oh, you've come, have you?'

  'Charming,' said Jeremy. 'Annabel, this is Sara. She's painting a picture of the house for Dad.'

  Annabel gave her a sweet, bright smile which didn't quite reach her golden-brown eyes. 'Hi, Sara.' The eyes swept over Sara's slender figure in the gleaming peacock dress. Sara had somehow expec­ted to see a version of Jeremy, but Annabel did not look like him at all. She had a glossy sophisticated prettiness which did not seem to reach her eyes. The smooth dark-brown bell of hair curved round her face, the vivid red of her mouth matched by her long, manicured nails.

  'Marvellous to see you,' she said, and didn't mean a word of it. She glanced away from Sara to her brother. 'Drinks in the other room,' she told him, and turned back to her friends.

  Jeremy looked at her back with unhidden anger, but Sara took his hand and moved away.

  'Rotten manners. I'm sorry,' he said, following her.

  'It doesn't matter,' Sara shrugged.

  'It matters to me,' Jeremy retorted, 'I can't stand Annabel when she's in that sort of mood. Who the

  hell does she think she is?'

  'Forget it. We're here for the party, not to have your sister welcoming me with open arms.'

  The party was enjoyable. Jeremy knew many of the guests and was hailed with delight by them. They gave Sara the same warm appreciation, which more than made up for the snub his sister had given her. The evening wore on with dancing and laugh­ing, quite a bit of drinking, and some idiotic games which Jeremy organised. They found a large old tin tray in the kitchen and Jeremy at once insisted that they play sleighing down the stairs. Heaped

  with cushions stolen from a couch they took turns in sliding bumpily down the stairs, shrieking with laughter. God knew what the neighbours thought, Sara mused.

  'Come on, darling!' Jeremy yelled when she stood aloof watching them.

  Protesting, she was dragged up the stairs and seated on the tray with Jeremy behind her, his arms clasped round her waist.

  It was more like a nursery party than a party for grownups, Sara decided in rueful amusement.

  The tray rushed noisily down the stairs and she closed her eyes in sudden alarm at the speed of it. Jeremy whooped behind her, holding her tighter. As they, reached the bottom they were Hung help­lessly across the hall, missing the cushions which had been laid to catch them.

  Jeremy rolled, holding her close, and as they came to a stop he raised himself to look down, laughing, into her face. 'Darling, you look petrified,’ he teased.

  'You fool!' she gasped, all the breath knocked out of her.

  He bent his fair head and kissed her lingeringly.

  A shadow passed on the wall. Vaguely Sara glanced upwards and her heart turned over with a violence which made all the colour leave her face.

  Nick walked past without looking at her, but she knew he must have seen her. Jeremy was lifting her to her feet, glaring.

  'Sara, you're as white
as a ghost. I'm sorry, darl­ing. Did it really scare you that much? Hit me if it will make you feel better.'

  She pulled herself together, smiling too brightly. 'I'm fine.' Her glance moved to where Nick's lean dark body was disappearing into the next room. What on earth was he doing here?

  'Game over,’ Jeremy said to the others. They collected up the tray and cushions and vanished laughing into the other rooms. Jeremy looked down at Sara.

  'You do look sick, you know. Did you hit your head or something?'

  She snapped at him. I'm fine, I told you I'

  Jeremy looked startled. It was the first time she had ever shown any sign of temper.

  'Shall we dance?' Jeremy asked uncertainly.

  She nodded, giving him a rueful look. 'I'm sorry. It knocked me for six.'

  She was aware of a hidden irony even as she said it. The ride down the stairs hadn't really bothered her at all. It was seeing Nick which had made her feel as though she had been flung off the edge of the world and even as she followed Jeremy into the room where people were dancing, she was finally facing a fact which she had refused to face for a long time. She was in love with Nick Rawdon.

  It was something she had never wanted to happen and something which she had imagined was all over for her. She hadn't seen him for months, yet that one brief glimpse had left her in a state of shock. Her skin felt cold, her heart was pounding, her stomach was churning. She moved in Jeremy's arms with her eyes closed because she couldn't quite see the room. It was dipping and whirling in a funny way. Jeremy took advantage of her weakness, of course. He gathered her close and crooned softly against her ear, his mouth brushing her cheek, her neck, Sara was almost unconscious of him. Behind her closed lids she was seeing Nick again and again, the averted hard face, the lithe body moving at a stride.

  What had he thought? Or hadn't he even recog­nised her? Had he forgotten her in the past nine

  Probably, she thought. Why should he remember her? He had made a few passes and then decided she wasn't worth the effort. There must have been a dozen others in his life since then. She hadn't fol­lowed his romantic adventures in the glossy maga­zines, but once Greg had looked up from glancing through one and asked if she had read some gossip item about her merchant banker and a blonde model. 'Apparently he just dropped her and she's crying all over the Sunday papers, no doubt making a fortune at the same time.'

  Sara hadn't even glanced at the picture he held out to her. Her face had been blank. 'Lucky escape for her,' she had merely commented with a brittle smile, and Greg had dropped the subject.

  Sara had no illusions about how Nick would have spent the past nine months. He had never pretended to be a plaster saint and his technique with women wouldn't have been learnt at Sunday school. She didn't like it—but then she didn't intend to make it her business to like or dislike anything Nick Raw-don did.

  'Angel, you are so sexy,' Jeremy whispered, and she opened her eyes carefully to smile at him.

  Over his shoulder she met a pair of hard blue eyes and felt that violent shock again.

  She moved her own eyes away back to Jeremy and smiled up into his eyes, a brilliant smile to which Jeremy responded like a seal Hung a piece of fish.

  He kissed her as they danced and she made no attempt to move away. Her pulses were racing so wildly that she felt she might be sick and as Jeremy moved back he looked astonished. 'Darling, you're blushing,' he commented, and she knew from the heat burning in her face that he was right, but it had nothing to do with him. She didn't look to­wards Nick. He was dancing beside them with Anna­bel in his arms. Sara had seen that at a glance, but she wouldn't look his way again.

  Jeremy's eyes were excited. 'Am I getting somewhere at last?' he asked her very softly, and. she sighed, realising that he was misunderstanding her obvious reactions.

  'Don't take me seriously, Jeremy,' she warned in a low tone.

  Jeremy's rakish smile flashed out. 'If you say so,' he returned. 'But you arc giving me quite a come-on, you know.'

  She did know and she felt furious with herself. She had been using him to disguise from Nick her reac­tion to him and it was a disgusting thing to do. She looked at Jeremy wryly.

  'It must be the drink.'

  'Ah,' he said. 'One damned gin after another?' She giggled at the quote and Jeremy laughed back at her. He wasn't taking her seriously and that was a relief. She liked Jeremy, but he wasn't for her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Nick again, his black head bent down towards Annabel, whose glossy little head was nestling on his broad shoulder. Damn her, Sara thought, and winced at the sheer agony of the jealousy which was stabbing inside her. Jeremy suddenly also caught sight of Nick and his face altered. He obviously met Nick's eye because he gave him a curiously polite smile. 'Oh, hallo, sir,' he said, and Sara's eves opened wide at the 'sir'.

  Nick didn't answer. He merely nodded curtly and Sara knew he wasn't looking at her, he was keep­ing his eyes on Jeremy's face before he turned away.

  As they moved away Jeremy whispered, 'My boss.'

  Sara stiffened. 'Boss?' She was shaken by the news.

  'Mr. Nicholas Rawdon,' Jeremy expanded in deri­sory tones. 'I work at Rawdons. Didn't I tell you? It's an old merchant bank and he's the boss, the Great Panjandrum himself.'

  Sara's throat felt dry. 'Democratic of him to come to your sister's party, then.'

  Jeremy laughed. 'Ah, well, that's another story. He's Annabel's millionaire, her walking dream. I told you she had-a terrible crush on a millionaire didn't I? Nick's the chap.'

  Sara swallowed with difficulty. 'I thought you were just talking generally. I didn't realise she actually had a special millionaire in view.'

  'Not just in view,' Jeremy shrugged. 'Her campaign to get him has been going for months, but it begins to look as if she's getting somewhere. Lately he's been a lot more responsive, according to Annabel.'

  Sara smiled. 'Lucky Annabel!'

  That smile cost her more than anything had ever done in her life before. She was acting so hard she barely knew what she was doing. The pain was un­believable. She thought it would never stop. It was like the stabbing of a thousand tiny knives and she wondered how it was humanly possible to smile and talk while such anguish consumed one.

  As she danced in Jeremy's arms she wished fiercely for Greg. He was the only human being who could understand how she felt. Was this how he had felt whenever he thought about Lucy? God help him if it was, Sara told herself.

  A few moments later she and Jeremy were beside Annabel and Nick again. Sara looked blankly past Nick, her face coolly controlled, yet seeing with a rending jealousy the way his lithe body moved against Annabel's, the strong hand on the girl's waist, his face against Annabel's cheek.

  She forced herself to see them, to look and accept it. She was not going to be cowardly about this, she was going to face it. As she moved her eyes coolly over them Nick's eyes briefly glanced over at her and before she could look away their eyes had met. The blue eyes were fixed and cold. They looked right through her before they moved away. Sara laughed at that moment because Jeremy was whis­pering something in her ear and was waiting for her to laugh in response. Her laughter was bright and appreciative and Jeremy was satisfied. Nick glanced at her again and his brows were dark over the blue eyes. There was anger in his face now and suddenly she realised he thought she was laughing at him.

  She had laughed at him before and he had looked at her like this, his eyes savage.

  Why has this happened to me? she thought. I wish to God I'd never set eyes on him.

  CHAPTER SIX

  It was half an hour later that Sara found herself facing Nick again. She and Jeremy were in a largo, noisy group laughing at one side of the room. Sara had deliberately not been allowing her eyes to wander because she did not want to see Nick again. She hoped he would leave before they were ever brought in contact. Suddenly the young men in the group glanced past her and their faces changed, sobered. Jeremy looked suddenly alert, like a boy scout seeing
an old lady across the road.

  'Nice of you to turn up, sir,' he said, all the rakish charm going out of his face.

  Sara felt a frisson of nervous alarm run down her spine. Although he didn't move she knew he was standing just behind her and when he spoke the deep cold voice was like a knife in her back.

  'Enjoying yourselves, are you?'

  Somehow he made that sound like an accusation. Jeremy looked at his hands and said smartly, 'You haven't got a drink, sir. Can I get you something?'

  'Thank you. Whisky and soda.'

  The group dissolved like magic, murmuring politely. Sara couldn't believe it. She felt panic-stricken, wondering how to walk away without betraying her dismay.

  Jeremy had ducked oft to get the drink. Nick didn't move, but she could feel his eyes on her, his body just behind her, hear the sound of his quiet breathing.

  'How long have you known Forcell?'

  She turned then, slowly, bracing herself for the impact of that hard face and their eyes met.

  'A few weeks.' She made no effort to smile; it was beyond her.

  His mouth twisted. 'Halliday oft painting again, is he?'

  Her colour rose. Tie's in France,' she said with a snap.

  Nick arched the black brows. 'How lucky for For­cell. He doesn't know about Halliday, I suppose?'

  She met his eyes levelly, not answering.

  'Someone ought to warn him that he's wasting his time,' Nick said maliciously.

  'Why don't you?' Anger made her smile mock­ing and the blue eyes narrowed sharply, suddenly filled with ice.

  He ran his gaze down the slender body from the fine-boned shoulders past her rounded breasts to the long, slim legs. 'Or is he doing very nicely while Halliday's out of the picture? I seem to recall you've no objection to a brief romance.'

  Her skin was burning but her eyes were filled with anger. She still didn't answer, although he paused to wait for a reply. While they stood there Jeremy reappeared with a glass of whisky which he handed to Nick. He looked at Sara and said, 'You haven't met, have you? Sara, this is my boss, Mr. Rawdon. Sir, this is Sara Nichols, an artist, she's painting Ravens Halt for my father.'